


In New York You Can Be a New Man

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Fandom
Genre: Angst, As are these boys when I'm through with them, Bi Alex, Blow Jobs, Confused John, Fluff, Friendship, Grieving, High School, I'm Sorry, Lams - Freeform, Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Parties, Smut, This is so messy, also really angsty, as am i, disregard the tags, how do you tag, i love these boys but also live to make them cry, i think it's cute, modern day AU, sads, smooches, some drinking, sorta slow burn, their relationship is good but their luck is sHiT, these tags are a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 38,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: John's never met someone so bright and so witty, someone with such shiny hair, someone who makes him feel so grounded and so alive.But it's not like anything would happen with Alexander Hamilton. John's got a girlfriend anyway.(Or: a modern day, fluffy, angsty high school lams au! Enjoy!)





	1. Chapter 1

EARLY JULY, 2016

"You don't love me. I'm convenient for you. And that's all this'll ever fucking be." John's neck snaps down like he's been shot in the back of the head. He hears the sickening crack of the gun in Alex's terrifyingly tepid voice. 

"That's not true." John murmurs it, barely audibly, towards the ground. He's wearing Alex's socks, fuzzy ones that go almost to his knees. They're ridiculous. And the world is burning around him and all he can focus on are these socks. 

"I put everything, every bit of me, John, in your hands. And I'm not getting anything in return and I'm just," Alex gestures wildly towards the door, his face stone. "I'm just gonna go."

"Alex, wait." John's on his feet, tears scalding his eyes. His chest is on fire, the room is on fire. "Please, I-"

"I'm done waiting, John." The door slams.


	2. Chapter 2

EARLY OCTOBER, 2015

"Um, hi. My name is Alexander Hamilton." The unrecognized, liquid voice snaps John out of his Honors English 11 trance. There's a boy standing at the front of the classroom. He's of average height, a little gangly, hair up in a ponytail. John's still debating how the boy makes that look relatively non douche-y, when the teacher is pointing him towards the seat on John's right side. John smiles weakly as he sits down. Socializing has never been a strong suit of John's, but the boy is clearly nervous.

"Hey, I'm John." The boy looks equal parts panicked and relieved to have someone talking to him, his brows raised and bunching up on his broad forehead. 

"I'm Alexander. Alex." John nods, showing him the page in the book that the class is on.

"Did you move here from somewhere?" Alex takes a few seconds to register the question. John can tell his mind is elsewhere. 

"Oh, uh, yeah. Nevis, in the West Indies, actually." John makes an interested grunt of acknowledgement. Alex puzzles him already. He seems so eager. His eyes are wide and John can almost see the gears spinning and working in his head. He's wearing dark jeans, a sweatshirt. Bulky socks that make John think he might not be used to the New York cold. Alex is pretty quiet for the duration of the class. He scribbles notes and doodles in the margins of his books and papers. He writes and reads so fast that it stuns John. John thinks about commenting on it but decides against it, falling back into the quiet observation that's he's so accustomed to. Lunch is in half an hour, and John wonders where the new boy'll sit. The noble thing would be to invite him to his table, with the scrappy little group that John's picked up over the years. But John stays quiet. The bell rings and Alex collects his stuff. A pencil skitters to the floor under John's desk. He picks it up, feeling bad for this new kid with his nervous fumbling and messy writing and fast talking as he thanks John. He scrambles out of the room and John watches after him, feeling a vague sort of guilt for reasons he can't quite place. 

John spots Alex again at lunch, through the grapes that his friends Lafayette and Hercules are tossing over the table at each other. Laf is cursing in French as Herc ducks to avoid the onslaught. He met these two in freshman year, when they all had homeroom together and no one else to sit with at lunch. Lafayette is loud, brazen, and cocky with a heavy French accent (his parents are immigrants) and a quick mouth. Hercules is tall and looks like he could fuck you up good with his booming voice and big fists, but he's hilarious and dresses well. John glances up to see Alex clutching his tray and wandering in a way that John recognizes painfully well as the aimless, panicked, I've-got-nowhere-to-sit walk of shame. John feels another twang of guilt but ignores it and looks away from Alex. 

"Mon ami, whatcha staring at?" Laf is smirking at him, but then again, Laf is always smirking at something. John tilts his head towards Alex..

"New boy." They glance over and Herc leans in, eyebrows raised. 

"Do we like New Boy?" John rolls his eyes.

" 'We' do not like New Boy. We like Peggy, our girlfriend." Herc holds his hands up, giggling. 

"Speaking of, how is Peg? She and her sisters haven't been around for a while." Laf looks disappointed, prompting Hercules to give his patented "you'll never get in Angelica Schuyler's pants" stare. 

"Theater," John explains. "Peg's on set design and in the ensemble."

"And let me guess, Angie's the leading lady." Laf rolls his eyes even as his voice pitches saying her name. 

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner." John's popping open a bag of chips when he sees something in the corner of the cafeteria. 

"Oh god."

"What is it, John?" Herc follows John's stare. "Is that New Boy?"

"With Aaron Burr." John finishes. "I should intervene before Alex is Secretary of Student Council on his first day."

"Man, why're you so interested in New Boy?' Laf looks deeply uninterested. 

"I dunno, he sits next to me in English. I feel like I owe him some protection before he falls into Aaron's crowd." Herc sighs. 

"Go get him John. Save his poor naive soul."

After a couple of weeks, Alex is something of a regular at their table. He warms up to Hercules and Lafayette rather quickly, which John has to give him some credit for. They're talking more in class too, and John's beginning to see that this kid is whip-smart. And he's funny in an insanely quick-witted way. And after a while, John feels like his little handful of friends might just be growing by one.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fucking long sorry guys

MID-DECEMBER, 2015

"Merry Christmas!" Alex plunks a bag on John's desk, chugging coffee alarmingly fast from a travel thermos. Something John's learned about Alex: he subsists solely on caffeine and the rage that someone, somewhere, has a Wrong Opinion. John has to hand it to him: he's dressed quite appropriately for the last day before winter break in the most garish holiday sweater John has ever seen. 

"That's a horrible sweater." This comment only prompts Alex to pose in his sweater, sending John into helpless, embarrassed laughter. 

"Open the bag!" John does, speculating about its contents. ("This feels like an Olympic Gold Medal. Possibly a live African elephant." "Just open the goddamn bag.") It's a pair of reindeer antlers on a headband, garnished by a rainbow of lights. John laughs, plunking it on top of his curly head of hair. Alex switches the headband on, and the whole class is immediately treated to two seconds of the loudest, most high pitched rendition of Jingle Bells in the world until Alex finds the off switch. 

"I love them!" John exclaims. Alex grins, proud. 

"Now you're festive!" If there's anything Alex takes seriously, it's the proper level of festivity. John's gift for him, an iTunes gift card, seems lame by comparison, but Alex accepts it happily, explaining that he's got to buy the cast album for a musical John promptly forgets the name of. 

The rest of the day is cheerful and relaxed, with cookies from Herc at lunch and an argument between Alex and some kid in biology about which Home Alone movie has the best traps. It's freezing and snowy and everything feels a little happier with the holidays in the air. Alex's excitement is palpable and contagious, especially about the snow. He's equal parts wary of it and in love with it, having never seen any before moving to New York. Their little lunch group tramps through the snow after school for coffees. Alex is looking up at the white sky every five seconds and gasping, which is more wonderfully endearing than anything. The little cafe, which John's been coming to regularly since freshman year, is bustling and bright. Alex immediately launches into conversation about how he much he loves winter because it just smells so good, you know? As John is paying for his small mocha with extra whipped cream (as close as you can get to straight-up hot chocolate) he feels a squeeze from behind around his waist.

"Peg!" He leans down to kiss her cheek. "How are you?" Her cheeks are pink under the huge, fuzzy hood of her coat, and he squeezes her hand. 

"I'm good, baby! It's winter break!" She does a little dance that makes John grin. "Man, it smells good in here!" John giggles, hugging her around the waist. Peggy, with her yellow mittens and broad smile, is like a ray of sunshine in the gray New York winter. John grabs his mocha, thanking the barista. Peg swipes a finger through the mountain of whipped cream that tops it, and he swats her away jokingly. They join the group at a long table by the windows. Alex and Lafayette are having an animated conversation about the math final, and Herc is sipping tea, watching them somewhat disapprovingly. Alex scoots over to give John and Peggy room on the bench, and rakes his finger through John's whipped cream. 

"Man, leave me alone!" John whips his mocha away, laughing through his mock-anger. "You guys gotta leave some for me!" Alex sticks out his tongue and grins. He thinks with that smile and charm he can get away with anything, and, though John hates to admit it, it does work. John fake-pouts and thoroughly licks the entirety of his whip cream up to keep it from being stolen any more than it has been. Alex rolls his eyes and chugs his latte down in two sips. 

"What's up with these?" Peggy flicks John's antlers, grinning. 

"Alex got em!" John explains, poking Alex. 

"Can I turn em on?" Peggy reaches for the switch. 

"No!" John and Alex exclaim simultaneously. Peggy holds her hands up. "They're just louder than a middle school marching band." Alex laughs. 

"Well, they look really cute." Peggy pecks John's dry lips. "Nice job, Alex!" Alex smiles at her, but it's an odd smile. Pinched around the eyes. John shoots him a look, trying to ask what's wrong using only his eyes. But Alex is back to chattering with Lafayette, and John wonders if he imagined the whole thing.   
_____

The break is snowy and quiet. John's parents work for the first week, and Peggy comes over a couple of times for movies and to make cookies. There are enough frosted snowflakes and trees on John's counters to last the rest of the winter. Lafayette and Hercules are both away with their families for Christmas, and Alex has been strangely M.I.A from their group text. John wonders if that has anything to do with that day in the cafe. He's thoroughly confused and beginning to get worried. A few days before Christmas, he calls Alex. The phone picks up on the fourth ring. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, man." John swallows. He's never liked talking on the phone, even with Peggy.   
"What's up?"

"Nothing much, I just wanted to see if anything was going on. You haven't been texting on the group chat." 

"Oh, yeah, I've been really busy. My family does the holidays pretty intensely."

"Well, I see where you got that from." Alex sounds normal. He doesn't seem mad, and John's almost bowled over with relief. Conflict, especially with friends, turns his stomach. "So everything's okay?"

"Yeah, John, it's good. Thanks for checking in." John wants to ask about the cafe, but decides against it. 

"Of course, yeah."

"Hey, are you doing anything tonight?"

"No, man, I don't think so." 

"You should come over. My parents are having this big party and it'll be hell if I don't have someone to talk to." Something in Alex's voice makes John laugh.

"Relatives, huh?"

"So many, John, oh my god. You need to come and save me." 

"Sure, that sounds great. What time?"

"Seven, but you should get here at 6:30." 

"Damn, you really don't want to talk to your relatives."

"I really, really do not. I'll text you my address?"

"Perfect, I'll see you."

"Okay, thank you man."

"Course, it'll be fun." 

"See you!"

John's standing in his closet, shirtless, with one sock on. What does one wear to meet his friend's apparently extremely extended family? John feels a touch of anxiety in his stomach, and wonders if he spoke too soon about coming. He's not too good at parties, especially ones with adults who ask about colleges as if you've given it thought. But Alex will be there. And Alex relaxes John. So John takes a breath, pulls his hair up, and puts on a red sweater. On the way out the door, he grabs his antlers for festivity and luck. 

Apartment 32B. John manages to find it with only a minimal amount of getting lost. The cabbie didn't try to make conversation on the ride, which John appreciated hugely. Alex doesn't live far from him, but in the snow John would rather not walk. He checks his phone for the time. It's nearly 6:30, which means he's hopefully managed to save Alex from as much interaction as possible. The front door has a huge wreath adorned with bows, as well as sparkling string lights hanging from it. This family really didn't fuck around when it came to festivities. John knocks, one, two, three times. The door flies open to reveal Alex, who immediately looks immensely relieved at the sight of him. 

"I thought it might be a relative. Come in!" John laughs at Alex's obvious disdain as he says hello. He takes off his shoes on the doormat featuring a mildly terrifying Santa, and straightens up. 

"Wow." Every inch of the apartment looks like the North Pole relocated to Manhattan. There are lights everywhere, and a towering tree that takes up half the living room. 

"That's only one of the trees." Alex clarifies, looking quite entertained by John's shock. 

"There are more?" Alex laughs. 

"One on the balcony and one in the kitchen!"

"Oh my god..."

"Hey, you're wearing the antlers!" 

"That's right!" Alex has on jeans and a t-shirt that has a vintage Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer design on it. 

"I see where it comes from." John says, nodding at the shirt. Alex looks pointedly at John's antlers which makes John laugh. "Alright, fair enough."

Alex shows him around the apartment which, in addition to being absolutely packed with decorations, smells like a gingerbread house. John's beginning to think that this whole family are elves here to save Christmas. Alex's room is the last thing on the tour. It's small, with a loft bed and a desk underneath it. He's got hip-hop vinyl hanging on the walls and clothes and papers strewn about. John thinks Alex's sheets might have comic book characters on them, which makes him grin. 

"Sorry, I didn't have time to pick up in here." Alex kicks at a pile of clothing on the floor

"No worries, man. Cool room!" 

"Thanks! It's not as big as the one in my old house, but I like it." Alex looks lost in thought, and John wonders if he still gets homesick. 

"Can I ask why you moved?" 

"We have a lot of family here, and, um, my mom is sick. Really sick." John immediately feels a sharp pang in his chest, under his ribs, as he looks at Alex. How much does he actually know about this boy? 

"I'm sorry, Alex. I'm really... sorry." Alex smiles a little, like the sentiment is still nice to hear, though John knows it means nothing. 

"It's cancer. Doctors say she has six months, but they were saying that a year ago. She's tough." Alex looks resolute now. 

"If there's anything my family or I can do..."

"Thank you, John. Us being here is good, with all her family. That's why we've got this party, and why I don't want to see my relatives. All the hugging and crying just-" Alex breaks off, and John feels like he might start hugging and crying himself, though he knows that's the last thing Alex wants or needs. "She loves this time of year. I think that's why I like it so much, especially here, with the snow. She loves that." John nods, unsure of what to say. 

"Is she here?" 

"Uh huh. She's got a nurse, but she doesn't need to be in the hospital full-time." 

"That's really good."

"Yeah, it is. Really good. Hey, do you want to meet her? She's always worrying that I have no friends." John's nervous at the thought of meeting someone new, someone sick, but right now he'd jump off a bridge if Alex asked him to. 

"Sure, yes, I- yes. And Alex-" John feels weepy and just so terribly sorry. "Just, you'll always have friends. Me and Herc and Laf." Alex smiles, and his eyes are wet.   
"Thank you. You guys have made the move so much easier, and you being here, and just- thank you." John nods, fighting the urge to grab Alex and never let go. 

"Of course."  
_____

Meeting Mrs. Hamilton goes better than John thought it would. She doesn't get out of bed, and she's got a scarf tied about her head, but, for the most part, she seems like she's okay. Alex goes to her and kisses her cheek. 

"Mama, this is John. He's the one I told you about, who invited me to his lunch table the first day of school." Alex looks up at John, face kind and soft, and John feels suddenly teary. Mrs. Hamilton smiles at John, and it's Alex's smile. She beckons him closer, and John suddenly forgets what to do with his body as he lurches forward. 

"Hi, ma'am." She smiles. 

"My Alexander could do well to be half as polite as you." Alex groans, and John blushes. 

"Thank you, John. For making Alex feel so welcome." John's ears are on fire. 

"Of course, he's- he's a really good friend." Alex is smiling at his stockinged feet. "I love all the decorations!" John's trying to diffuse the odd crying feeling he has, and the room really is amazing. It's lit from every corner and ornaments hang from the ceiling. She smiles. 

"We like to go all out here. Alexander, could you bring me some tea, please? See if John wants any." And then John's smiling, and they're walking out. And John still feels red and teary eyed and more thankful than he's ever been that he went to talk to Alex in the cafeteria that day in October. 

When the relatives start showing up, Alex and John hide away in Alex's room. They watch a movie on his laptop, backs against the wall on the loft bed. Alex is chattering with pretty constant commentary, but John doesn't mind. They talk about school and life and Christmas (John wants Jordans, Alex wants a puppy) and make a midnight rescue mission to the kitchen for cookies and coffee, miraculously without being sighted by any relatives. Alex puts a second movie on, and by the time it's over it's so late that they blow up an air mattress and John stays the night.


	4. Chapter 4

DECEMBER 31ST, 2015

There's a party at Lafayette's for New Year's Eve- the lunch crew and the Schuyler sisters and a crate of cheap beer. This party has been tradition since freshman year, though people actually drink the beer now. It's become something of a joke, something they amp up so much that then always turns out to be the same handful of people watching made-for-tv Lifetime movies and eating chips out of the bags. It's the perfect scene for John, and he's excited for Alex to come this year. John shows up around eight, toting a two-liter bottle of Coca Cola and a party-sized bag of nacho chips. Lafayette and Hercules are the only ones there so far. They're playing some terrible loud music and pouring chips and salsa into big bowls. 

"Wow, dishes this year. Really classing it up." Herc gets him into a headlock. 

"Nice to see you too, John." 

"Who's coming?"

"Who do you think is coming?" Laf snorts. "The girls and Alex and that's it." The unpopularity of his party, though John loves it, is a bit of a sore spot for Laf. At that moment the doorbell rings. John, being closest to the door, gets it. It's Alex, his arms full of-

"Is that a puppy?" Herc is actually squealing as he bounds over. It is a puppy, a tiny, soft golden retriever. John gasps, laughing. 

"You got your dog, man!" Alex's face is shining with happiness. 

"Yes I did! His name is Philip and he's perfect." He sets the dog down, and it immediately stands up on John's legs. "I hope it's okay to have him here?" Laf nods, scooping the puppy up to his eye level and talking at him in French. Philip yips and licks at Lafayette's face. Everyone bursts into laughter, and John realizes suddenly how much he missed having his lunch crew all together. 

The sisters show up shortly after. They're all over Philip, and Angelica is all over Alex. Everyone except Alex can tell, including Lafayette who's fuming, and it's quite entertaining. Alex is talking to her but John can see he still doesn't realize. Peggy smiles at John, but seems unusually quiet and distant, for reasons John can't discern. Eliza is talking to Hercules at the chip bowl, and this is the party. It's a bit after nine now, and they order Chinese takeout. Someone switches on the tv and they lounge around in the living room, nursing beers and watching a documentary about whales. Phillip is crawling over everyone, wagging his tail that's as long as he is. The takeout comes and they spread it out over the table. John reaches for an egg roll, but Peggy snatches it away before he can get his hands on it. He looks up, brow furrowed in confusion. 

"What is it, Peg?" She turns away from him with the egg roll, lips pursed and pouting. John looks up at Alex, utterly perplexed. Alex shrugs, looking concerned. John touches Peggy on the shoulder. 

"Peg, can we talk in the kitchen?" She gets up without looking at him. He follows her down the hall to the kitchen, where she stands leaning against the countertop. 

"What's going on?" John asks in a whisper, but she responds full volume. 

"A few days before Christmas I asked you to come over, that night. I probably called you twenty times and you didn't respond until the next morning?" She's furious, cheeks pink. "Who were you out cheating with, John? Hmm?" He just wants her to talk quieter. His chest is squeezing with panic. He can hear that the living room has gone quiet, listening. 

"I didn't cheat on you, Peggy. I swear to god." He's putting as much emphasis behind each syllable as he can muster, trying to push the truth out to her. She's glaring at him, face stone, eyes wet. 

"Where were you?" She sounds too calm now, terrifyingly calm. 

"I was at Alex's. I slept over." His voice is barely audible. Peggy let's out a sharp gasp of laughter. John's heart drops farther into his stomach. 

"Of course you were. Of course. And that wouldn't even be a problem if you told me. But you left me out to dry, all fucking night." Peggy never swears. "Because you're always putting your boys before me. That's all you've ever done." John is going to cry and that's the last thing he wants right now. 

"Peggy-"

"I don't want to hear it, John. Sorry." Her eyes are so angry. He thinks she really hates him. "I'm leaving, we're- we're done."

"Peggy, no, Peg-" John is crying now, and his breathing is too fast and he might just pass out there. 

"I'm sorry, John. I can't be the third wheel in my own relationship anymore." And she's gone. And Lafayette is shouting something. And the door is slamming. And Angelica and Eliza are yelling after her, and there's scrambling, and the door slams again. And then it's so quiet that John wants to separate his skin from his bones. 

There's a long silence punctuated by John's ragged breaths. 

"John?" It's Alex, calling from the living room. His voice is quiet and full of pity. "What can we do?" John sinks to the tiled floor, back against the refrigerator. He closes his eyes. It's over. A year and two months with her, down the drain. Its over. And then there are strong arms around him, pulling him up off the ground. Alex. John sobs into his shoulder. Alex holds him. 

Hercules makes tea, and Lafayette wraps John is a pile of blankets, and Alex sits next to him with Phillip, talking in a soft, soothing voice. They're babying him, but John is too miserable to care. John is stuffy and sniffly and Alex is holding tissues up to his nose and commanding him to blow. It's so lovingly ridiculous that John bursts into a fresh wave of tears. Alex wipes John's eyes, and Philip licks his hand softly, whimpering like he can sense the pain of the situation. Herc brings him a steaming mug of tea, which John nurses in his palms. Midnight comes and goes without fanfare. 

"Happy 2016 to me." John mutters, voice thick and choked. Alex pulls him in closer. 

"I'm sorry, John. I'm really sorry" Laf nods, sitting down on John's other side. "We're here." John leans back into the couch, wishing he could evaporate into the cushions. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Alex asks, his face so kind. Alex, who always wants to talk about everything. John shakes his head, mute. Alex nods. "Okay." John doesn't know how he can get his voice so soothing. Everything in John hurts, dull and aching. How did this happen? Alex takes a deep, shaky breath. 

"I feel like this is my fault, John. And I'm so sorry." John shakes his head. No. 

"It's not your fault."

"I invited you over." Alex is looking at him, eyes wide and full. 

"But I," John interrupts himself with an involuntary, gasping breath. "I didn't text her. I didn't tell her where I was. I did this to myself. It's not your fault." Alex looks like he's going to say something, but only straightens John's blankets instead. They make him a bed on the couch, and John doesn't even try to argue. Alex gets ahold of John's phone to text his mom that he's staying over. John can't speak. He's laying on the couch with tears running into his ears and his friends fuss over him. Alex isn't leaving his side. Philip is curled up with John on the couch, still and quiet like he knows what's going on. John's exhausted, but sleep is evading him even after they turn off the lights and lay down in sleeping bags on the living room floor. It's after two in the morning when John gets up to use the bathroom. Alex is sitting up in his sleeping bag when he walks back. 

"Can we go for a walk?" Alex gets up immediately. 

"Of course."

Alex puts Philip on his leash, and they bundle up to head out into the middle-of-the-night cold. Alex is quiet, which John is thankful for. He needs to clear his head. The streetlights are glowing off the snow, and John feels calmer than he has all night. 

"Alex?"

"Uh huh?" Alex is holding Philip's leash as the puppy tramps through the slushy snow. 

"Have you ever had a girlfriend?" John's nose and cheeks are numb with cold 

"I haven't." Alex seems like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't. "I guess the chance hasn't arisen." John nods at the ground. "Sorry I can't be of more help."

"It's alright man, I just... I don't know how this happened. I guess I wasn't spending enough time with her?" Alex makes a sad noise of acknowledgement, and John appreciates that he's not trying to pull him out of his hole of aching self-pity. They walk in silence for a few blocks and turn around. 

"Thanks, Alex." 

"Of course."

"Y'know, I've known you the shortest, but-" John swallows. "You're the closest friend I've got." Alex smiles, looking over at him. 

"Ditto, John." John likes the feeling in his chest that replaces a little bit of the emptiness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a psa, I have a lot of this already written so my updates are constant right now but will probably slow down when I've gotta write new material !! Psst leave comments I love hearing what y'all like

MID JANUARY, 2016

John can't sleep. He keeps having dreams of Peggy leaving, distorted and distant but nonetheless painful. He switches on the light on his bedside table. 3:54 am. Two and a half hours before he needs to get up for school. He tries in vain to fall asleep again for the next hour, and finally gives up and rolls out of bed. He texts Alex, who he knows gets up at the crack of dawn most days (which John can't understand for the life of him, but is terribly thankful for now). His phone buzzes within the minute. 

Alex, 5:03 am: Bad dreams? :( 

John's told him about the dreams before, since they started after New Year's. 

John, 5:04 am: Uh huh

Alex, 5:04 am: I'm sorry. 

Leave it to Alex to use the proper punctuation always. 

Alex, 5:05 am: Hey, I go for a run most mornings. I can come by your house if you want to join me?

John laughs a little. Who is this boy with his fountain of unlimited energy? 

John 5:05 am: Why not?

Alex is outside John's building at 5:15. John's got sweats and a jacket on over a t-shirt. It's still bitter cold outside, especially before the sun is up. Alex has a stocking cap over his wild hair, and is dressed in neon head to toe. He's running in place as John buzzes himself out, which makes John laugh. 

"Hey," John says, his breath clouding in the air. 

"Hi, dude!" And Alex is off running, leaving John scrambling to catch up. 

John's lungs are burning after a few blocks, but the cold air and exhilaration of feeling his feet pound the sidewalk are helping take his mind off things. Alex runs like a gazelle, and looks like he won't be tired for hours. He's a bit ahead of John, and it's the longest John's ever heard Alex be quiet for. They run until the sky is lightening and John's wheezing like a herd of elephants have taken up residence is his chest. They walk the rest of the loop back to John's house, still quiet as John struggles to catch his breath. 

"Are you feeling any better?" Alex still looks bright eyed and bushy tailed, almost infuriatingly so. John nods, hands on his knees. 

"Definitely (gasp) helped. Thanks, Alex (gasp)." Alex laughs and pats John on the back. 

"Don't throw up, buddy." John groans. 

"I'm gonna get home to get cleaned up. See you at school?" Alex bounces back on his heels, voice bubbly. 

"If I don't (gasp) die of asphyxiation first." Alex rolls his eyes, smiling, and takes off at a jog. John stares after him until he's a neon speck. Jesus Christ. That boy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle in for this one guys

EARLY FEBRUARY, 2016

"The blatant consumerism of Valentine's Day is disgusting." John. groans, slamming his lunch down on the table. 

"Someone's bitter." Herc snorts, popping a chip into his mouth. "What're you on about?" John slumps onto the bench next to Alex. 

"It's almost Valentine's Day and I'm single." John pouts, thoroughly aware that he's being a brat but not caring. "And it's everywhere. I went to buy my lunch and someone tried to sell me a Val-o-gram." John puts his head on the table. Alex pats it. 

"Be nice to him, he misses Peggy." Alex says, only a tiny bit of laughter in his voice. John groans extensively into the table. 

"Last Valentine's Day we went to dinner and I got her roses and now-" John breaks off with a melodramatic sigh. Lafayette sighs back disappointedly. 

"Man, you gotta get over her." John mumbles "I know" into the table, with no real intentions of doing that. Suddenly, Alex slaps his hand on the table, frighteningly close to John's head. 

"I know!" His voice is loud and excited. "John needs an intervention." John sighs louder, banging his head on the table in protest. Alex grabs John's ponytail. "Stop that." John laughs a little. Alex is most definitely the squad mother.

"I agree, I can't watch this sad sack banging his head on any more tables." Hercules says resolutely. 

"Betrayal!" John lifts his head just enough to protest.

"They're right, mon ami." Lafayette agrees. "We can't let you wallow for the rest of your life." 

"Or I could, and die alone." John's getting into this pity party thing. He can almost hear his friends rolling their eyes. 

"Alright, John. You're gonna come over." Alex is talking in this no-nonsense voice that's funny. 

"On Valentine's Day?" John sighs at the table. 

"No, it'll be like anti-Valentine's. We can smash rose bouquets with hammers if you want, it'll be very cathartic." John laughs a little. 

"Alright."

 

"Truth or dare?" John's laying on Alex's rug, munching his way through handfuls of popcorn. They've watched two movies, eaten a whole pizza, and popped decorative heart-shaped balloons to their hearts content (Alex provided them for John to beat the hell out of), and now they're devolving into giggly preteens at a sleepover. Alex "hmm"s from his perch upside down on his loft bed. 

"Truth." John thinks for a second, tossing a piece of popcorn into the air and failing to catch it in his mouth. 

"What's something you've never told anyone before?" There's a pause as Alex thinks. 

"Well," Alex pauses, flipping himself right side up so his legs are hanging down the ladder. "I'm bisexual." He says it so calmly that John doesn't register it for a second. 

"Oh! Oh, that's totally chill, man." John's lost his ability to string words together. Alex smiles. 

"It's cool?"

"Yes, one hundred percent cool." John's heart is beating faster than usual without his permission. He silently tells it to shut up. He needs to get a fucking grip. John doesn't understand the feeling in his stomach. 

"So, have you, uh, had a boyfriend then?" Alex shakes his head. 

"No boyfriend." Alex's cheeks look a little pink, but it might just be the low light. John's stomach is still flipping and he wills it to stop. 

"Does this..." Alex looks nervous. "change anything?" John shakes his head. 

"No, man, no, of course not. We're cool." It's hard to read Alex's face. "Hey, thanks for telling me."

"You're the only person that knows." John smiles, going soft. 

Before they go to sleep, Alex stretches out and John can see a swath of the honey skin of his stomach. It's like his senses have become hyper-alert. He's seen Alex shirtless plenty of times as they change for gym, but he's never noticed how smooth his skin looks. He exhales sharply. Snap out of it, Laurens. What is this happening in his stomach? John lays in the dark, listening to Alex's soft breaths above him. It must just be a reaction to the news Alex told him. And he never felt this way about Peggy. So he can't have any feelings for Alexander. 

Right?

The butterflies are still there when John wakes up, beating their wings harder than ever. He's up before Alex, which is unusual as John could sleep till noon every day of his life. He looks up and Alex is there, face peaceful with sleep. The first rays of sun fall on his features, his thick brows and high cheekbones. John closes his eyes, letting a puff of air out through his nose. This can't be happening. There's got to be a rational explanation for why his eyes keep darting up to Alex's sleeping frame. Because he's never felt this way before. Never about a boy. Although... there have been moments. Where he feels his eyes lingering a second too long when Alex pulls his shirt over his head in the locker room. The fuzziness in his chest as he watched Alex jog away after their run. No. No. Not possible. And there have been moments late at night when John has ten tabs open in private mode on Google, and a box of tissues on his nightstand, when broad hands and a tanned chest flicker for a second in John's mind. No, no. No. John looks back up at Alex. It's not possible. And nothing could happen anyway. Because Alex clearly doesn't feel anything for John. But that day at the cafe when Peggy kissed John and Alex's face closed up... no. John turns over, away from Alex's bed, heart pounding. 

"I don't like Alexander Hamilton." John whispers to himself, barely audibly. "I don't." John thinks he needs to get out of here. It's the atmosphere, here laying down in Alex's room, watching him sleep. John gets up, stomach squeezing. Alex lifts his messy head from his pillow as John collects his stuff. 

"John?" His voice is sleepy and confused, and John feels a stab of panic because Alex's sleepy voice could maybe be considered cute. 

"I've gotta go, uh, my mom called. She wants me home for, um, chores soon." 

"Oh," Alex's brow is furrowed, and he looks hurt, which shoots John in the chest. But he can't stay here, not now. 

"Thanks for having me, man. I'll text you." Alex still looks confused, like maybe this is all a dream. John feels like shit for bailing, but he's got to go before the butterflies spill out of his mouth in words. 

"Okay, okay." Alex is sitting up. "You can't stay for breakfast?" John wants to do that. 

"No, sorry. My mom's pretty strict about this kind of stuff." Alex nods, and John prays his feelings aren't hurt. 

"Alright, man, get home safe. See you on Monday?" 

"Uh huh, see you." And John is gone, the freezing wind biting tears from his eyes. 

John collapses into bed as soon as he's home, telling his mom an excuse about Alex having soccer practice early. John feels like his lungs aren't holding enough air to keep him alive. He's not going to have a panic attack now. He's not going to. John curls into the fetal position. All he wants to do is call Alex with this, but he can't. He doesn't like Alex, he knows he doesn't. Because he doesn't like boys. He never has. Because he's had a girlfriend. And he loved her. He did love Peggy. 

But he never had that feeling with her that he got in his stomach when Alex stretched his arms up. John pushes a pillow over his face, trying to stop his thoughts that are racing too fast. He doesn't like boys. He doesn't like Alex. How did Alex telling him he was bisexual set this off? John just wants to stop thinking. He needs to stop. He wants to call Alex, but he can't. And what would Hercules and Lafayette say? John's alone in this, alone with his mind running in circles, adding up glances and heartbeats and touches and sleepovers and gym class and texts. And he thinks he was blind before last night. And that truth crushes in on his chest and he's sobbing into his pillow in overwhelmed hysteria. 

Could he like Alexander Hamilton?

By late afternoon, John's in a state of terrifying calm, like his frenzied thoughts went so far that they doubled back into fragile, frozen peace. He's still laying in bed. His phone has been buzzing intermittently all day, but he hasn't checked it. He's scared of what he'll say if he sees Alex's name on the screen. He finally does look at it when he gets up to pee. 

Alex, 8:37 am: I hope your chores go well and you got home safe. Thanks for coming over :)

Alex, 10:22 am: Are you still cleaning? Sorry dude. 

Alex, 1:50 pm: Did you leaving so fast have something to do with what I told you last night?

Alex, 1:51 pm: I hope not. 

Alex, 1:52 pm: Did I freak you out?

Alex, 1:52 pm: I'm sorry. 

Alex, 1:59 pm: John?

Alex, 3:28 pm: John?

John's heart caves in. He shouldn't have left so fast. What to say to this boy? 

This boy he might maybe possibly have feelings for? He tries it out in his mouth. 

"I might like Alexan-" He swallows. This is incredibly hard to admit, even to himself. John's eyes are pricking with hot tears. He takes a breath. 

"I might like Alexander." John's neck is burning. "I might like boys." Getting it out is like a dam breaking, and he's crying again, the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes. Does he? What can he possibly say to Alex now? He picks up his phone, tears running down his neck. 

John, 4:16 pm: Hey. 

His phone buzzes almost immediately. 

Alex, 4:16 pm: John. 

Alex, 4:16 pm: What the hell John I was worried 

Oh no. He's not using proper punctuation. This is bad. 

John, 4:17 pm: I'm sorry. 

John, 4:17 pm: I was doing chores and didn't have my phone on me all day. 

It's hard to lie to Alex. It's hard to watch the three little dots and he types. It's hard to keep himself from dialing Alex's number and spilling his guts. 

Alex, 4:18 pm: Okay okay

Alex, 4:18 pm: I thought something happened which is dumb

John's heart melts over his rib cage. All Alex does is care for him, and John feels even worse for how he's acted all day. 

John, 4:19 pm: I'm okay Alex. I'm here. 

Alex, 4:19 pm: I'm glad you are. 

John wants to call him more than he's maybe ever wanted anything. But he's scared that as soon as he hears Alex's lilting voice, he'll spill everything. Alex's voice is wonderful, unlike anything John has ever heard. John realizes how he's thinking and feels his ears going warm. Maybe I like Alexander Hamilton. It's odd to realize that thought is coming easier now. He tests it out aloud. It's still hard to say, but his throat isn't on the verge of closing up anymore. He picks up his phone. 

John, 4:22 pm: Look, I really wasn't freaked out by what you told me. I promise. 

Alex, 4:22 pm: That's good. I just wanted you to know. 

John's heart is doing this odd thing that he's not particularly fond of. He just wants to be with Alex right now. And always. He realizes that ever since that day in October he's wanted to spend all the time he can with Alex. John's heart is beating and he feels like Alex can hear it through the phone. He should tell Alex. He's never been able to sit on secrets. But what if it ruins their friendship? That thought makes John's chest tight. 

"I think I like Alexander Hamilton." John breathes deep through his nose. "I think I like Alex."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is as far as I've written, and I apologize if my updates get slower !! Hope you're enjoying angsty john

EARLY MARCH, 2016

John still hasn't said anything. Not to Alex, not to Lafayette and Hercules. He's been sitting on this for about three weeks now, and he's getting worse and worse. Being around Alex is borderline painful, in English and Geography where their elbows sometimes bump and Alex is smelling like mint and shampoo and putting his hair up and taking it down every five minutes. And at lunch when he's talking with his hands moving and grabbing chips from John's paper bag and laughing at things Laf and Herc say, this wonderful, bubbling laugh. John is laying low, attempting to hold up conversations like normal and trying really really hard not to stare. Thankfully, no one seems to have caught on. Herc's furrowed his brows at John during a few lunches when he's been extra quiet, but if anyone knows they haven't said anything. John gets so excited when Alex texts that it's embarrassing. He jumps on his phone whenever he hears that ringtone, dying to see what Alex has said. He's grateful that a chance hasn't arisen for Alex to ask him to hang out. John's not sure what he would do- go absolutely mute or throw himself on Alex like the lovesick embarrassment to humanity he is? 

John spends a lot of time in his bed, waiting for his phone to buzz. It's hard to concentrate on anything that's not Alex. His grades have dipped a little, and he's hoping his parents won't notice and demand why. He can't sleep either. The second he shuts his eyes his brain is overrun by thoughts of Alex, made up scenarios. 

He's going insane. He's got to tell Alex. But how? Does John just text him? "By the way, I'm massively obsessed with you and your smile and the way your hair smells." John mashes his head into his mattress. He's a mess. What'd he do with Peggy? He asked her to lunch one day in sophomore year, because he knew she liked him (Lafayette snooped) and she was adorable. It was easy, as far from this as possible. Because what if he's rejected? What if it destroys their friendship? The what ifs terrify him. And thinking of trying to hide this for longer terrifies him. John picks up his phone, throws it down again. He can't just text Alex. Can he? He sighs so loudly that it reverberates his his throat. He picks up the phone again and dials a number he knows by heart before his fingers betray him. 

"Hi!" Alex's voice melts John's entire being. 

"Hi, Alex." John's voice is wavering. He hopes that's not apparent over the phone. 

"What's up?" John's heart is pounding in his throat. 

"I..." he wipes his palms on his jeans. "I was wondering if you wanted to go on a walk?"

"Of course I do." Alex's voice is soft and warm, and John's heart pangs. 

"I'll come over." 

John forgoes the elevator in Alex's building and bounds up the stairs two at a time. He's a ball of nervous energy as he bounces on his heels, rapping on Alex's front door. Alex opens it, and when John meets his smiling eyes his knees go weak. 

"Alex! Hi! Thanks for walking with me, I just needed to get out of the house and it's good to see you and-" John stops short, realizing he's rambling as a deep blush spreads over his neck. Alex grins. 

"Of course. It's been a while!" He's hooking Philip's leash to the puppy's collar, and then he's out in the hallway, standing next to John. "Where are we headed?" John's painfully aware of his heartbeat and Alex's pink cheeks and how Alex's chest looks in his puffy blue jacket. 

"Well, there's this cafe with really good cake a few blocks away." John suggests. Alex's eyes light up in a way that makes John have to stifle a gasp with a cough. 

"Really?" Alex is so excited that John giggles. "I've never been!" 

"You're gonna love it." And they're off, walking through the chilly wind, and John's stomach is flipping with anxious anticipation. How does he say this? Alex is chattering and John is doing his best to hold up his end as they practically power walk the four blocks. John's never met anyone who walks as fast as Alex. Or who talks as fast and writes as fast or who makes John's heart flip as fast as Alex does. They head into the cafe, where Alex immediately sighs deeply at the smell. That noise sends shivers down John's spine, brings color to his cheeks. They get a couple of thick slices to share (so much chocolate), and little mugs of coffee, and sit down at a small round table. Alex is tasting the cakes extensively, talking like he's on MasterChef, and he's got chocolate on his chin and John has to look away because it's so cute. 

"So, John." John freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth, looking at him. 

"Uh huh?" 

"Is it just me, or have things been a little weird with us since I told you I'm bisexual?" John swallows hard. Oh god, he knows. He must know. 

"Um, Alex..." Is he gonna do this? Is he actually going to do this? John's palms are sweating so excessively that he has to set down his fork. Alex is looking at him, expectant, eyes nervous. John feels like he might throw up right here on this beautiful boy. 

"What's up, John?" Alex's voice is gentle. John takes a shaky breath. 

"Alex, I-" John's throat has closed up. He's going to drop dead of embarrassment before he gets this out. Alex's eyes are wide, the spot of chocolate still on his chin. "I like you, Alex." John isn't getting any air. He covers his face with his shaking hands, unable to look at Alex's reaction. He hears Alex take in a sharp breath. His heart is beating so hard that he's fairly sure it's just going to stop. Why isn't Alex saying anything? He always has something to say. There's a pause, the silence so thick it's suffocating John. 

"John, look at me." John shakes his head frantically, sealing his hands tighter over his eyes. He's on the right track to having a full blown, sobbing panic attack in the middle of the cafe. What did he do? And then Alex's hands are on his, gently pulling them away from his face. "Look at me." John glances up at Alex. His face is so kind, his cheeks pink. 

"Can I tell you something?" Alex murmurs, voice soft. John nods, eyes on the tabletop. Alex's hands are still on top of his, shooting electricity through John's fingers. John's looking at his eyes now. They're shining and huge and nervous and John just wants to pull Alex into his chest and hold his there forever. John can feel Alex's pulse in the spots their fingers are touching. John thinks this is how it must feel to touch an angel. And Alex does look like an angel here, with mottled sunlight falling across his strong features, and his white teeth biting his bottom lip, and those huge eyes staring into John. Time has slowed to a crawl, and John isn't breathing, not really. 

Alex is staring at the table, his pulse jumping on John's fingers. 

"I think I've liked you from the moment you invited me to your lunch table that day in October." 

John's world goes white.   
_____

Alex comes back into focus, looking enormously concerned, with his face redder than John's ever seen it. 

"Are you okay?" Alex's brows are furrowed as he squeezes John's arm. 

"I, I think so. You... like me?" Alex's ears go an even deeper shade of red as he nods. 

"For a while now." John's heart is palpitating wildly. That can't be healthy. His hands are so sweaty that he's embarrassed that Alex was touching them. 

"Um. Really?" John's in a state of shock. It hasn't hit him yet, that this could be a possibility. Him and Alex. Alex grins, looking up at John. 

"Yes really." Alex blinks, shy, and John loves this bashful version of him he's never seen. "Must've had something to do with you whisking me away from Aaron Burr my first day like some curly-ass Prince Charming." John giggles, still stunned. Alex clearly doesn't lose his sense of humor in this kind of situation. 

"I couldn't let you suffer that fate." Alex smiles at John, in this soft, soft way that's only for him. 

"I'm quite grateful." John's heart is still squeezing wildly, but his breaths are coming a little easier. 

"So," John breathes. "what do we do now?" Alex nibbles his lip, thinking. "Like, what happens to our friendship? And the lunch group?" 

"Well," Alex's voice is soft. John could listen to his voice for the rest of his life. "Of course we're still friends. You should be friends with the person you like." John nods, absolutely floored by that description. 

"I'm curious," Alex swallows. "When did you start, uh, liking me?" He laughs then. 

"What?" John demands. 

"Nothing, we just sound like preteens." John grins. 

"We do." John smiles at him. "Well, uh, you told me that you were... bisexual, and," John takes a shaky breath. This is impossible. It's a dream. "I guess that got me thinking and-." Alex nods. 

"Is that why you left my house so fast, that day after Valentine's?" John picks up a crumb on the table with the pad of his thumb, licking his lips bashfully. 

"That might have had something to do with it..." Alex smiles at him. There's so much smiling happening. John suddenly feels bowled over by how he's the one who gets to see that smile. Right here, right now. 

"So." John looks at Alex, at his hair that's down and his furrowed dark brows and his smooth honey skin. 

"So." Alex's eyes are smiling like they always are. 

"Where do we go from here?" John asks, bewildered that this boy sitting across the table could like him. Alex smiles at him. 

"Maybe we could do," Alex reaches past the forgotten coffee cups to grab John's hand. "This. For now. We don't have to make any big decisions." The feeling of Alex's strong, warm fingers entwined with John's own is the best thing John's ever experienced. 

"Perfect."   
_____


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on the bus at 7 this morning forgive me (also this is officially over 10,000 words wowza)

EARLY MARCH, 2016

John is a ball of nerves. His fingers are tapping, on their own accord, against the worn desk of his English seat, a hundred miles a minute. His eyes are glued to the door of the classroom, and every time someone walks in it jolts his entire system in the split second before they're revealed as Not Alex. Since last Saturday in the cafe, John's vision seems to have tunneled into two narrow scopes- Alex and Not Alex. Disappointingly, there are a lot of Not Alex's in the halls, and only one-

"Alexander Hamilton?"John starts, suddenly, at the sound of a name he's whispered to himself at least a thousand times just last night, then blushes, embarrassed. It's the teacher, calling roll. Alex is late- he's never late. John feels a dead weight in his stomach- he'd popped out of bed with no problem at 5:30 this morning, an occurrence so rare (especially on a Monday) that his mom checked his temperature, in nervous excitement to see Alexander. And he's not here. What if he's avoiding John? John's mind is running through every possibility. His bus crashed. He's in the hospital with appendicitis. He realized he made a terrible mistake telling John he liked him back. He just said that to appease John. He's fled the state. He's an illegal immigrant and got deported. He's dying in a ditch with John's name on his lips. Or someone else's name. John realizes he's smashing his hands into his temples, probably with a violently pained expression on his face. He takes a breath, trying to clear his head. He's just five minutes late- not dying or avoiding John or on a boat back to Nevis. John does his best to read his textbook, but his eyes are flickering towards the door every two and a half seconds. John is so on edge that he nearly jumps out of his chair when his phone vibrates in his back pocket. He glances up to see that the teacher is distracted with a stoner in the front row, and slips it out of his pocket. He almost cries when he sees Alex's name on the screen. Alexander. He's not dead, he's not ignoring him. John opens the text under the desk. 

Alex, 7:47 am: My subway broke down! It's running again, I'm gonna be there soon.  
John sighs through his nose, relief flooding him. 

John, 7:47 am: Okay, be safe.

His phone buzzes again, then. 

Alex, 7:48 am: <3

John makes a shocked gasping noise, inflicting the attention of the two girls that sit in front of him with nose piercings. He looks back down at his phone, at the dorky emoticon that's melting John's heart in his ribs. He's grinning at his phone, so wide that it hurts his cheeks. He can't get over this tiny display of affection, the first bit of outward acknowledgment about their conversation at the cafe. 

"John?" John's head snaps up on his neck, embarrassed. His English teacher, and the rest of the class, are looking at him with raised brows. 

"Something you want to share with the class?" Half of John wants to stand up and declare to everyone in the room that Alexander Hamilton, with his shiny hair and perfect teeth and glittering eyes likes him, likes John. How he sent him a little heart. John shakes his head instead, cheeks hot, picking up his book until the attention is off him. His cheeks are still burning, a result of both being called out and the text, when the door squeaks opened. John head flies up, and then he's locked in eye contact with Alexander Hamilton. He feels his whole face and neck go burning red as Alex stares back at him. He's not walking into the classroom, just standing in the doorframe with his gorgeous lips parted just slightly. It's like time has slowed to a limp around them, like every cliche love story ever written. 

"Mr. Hamilton?" That snaps Alex out of it, and he steps forward, letting the door fall closed with a bang behind him. John's floored by the fact that it's him making Alex lose composure like that. Alex gives the teacher his late slip, his head lowered, and slinks to his seat beside John. He's close enough that John can smell his cologne- a scent he hasn't noticed before. Alex's hair is falling from his ponytail into his face, like he was running, and he brushes it away to look at John. John can't speak- his heart is hammering like there's someone bouncing around inside his chest. Alex leans into him, ever so slightly. John's breath catches in his throat. 

"Hi," he's whispering, his voice velvet. Jesus fucking Christ. Alex bumps John's arm with his own, so softly it could've been an accident. 

"Hi." John whispers back. They're back to eye contact- Alex's gaze is mesmerizing. John doesn't know if he could look away if he wanted to. 

"How are you?" Alex shifts his weight so their knees press together. That was not an accident. 

"I'm... good." Now that he's here, John is. He really is. Alex is still looking at him with those big dark eyes with the adorable bags under them and those thick, slanting brows. Alexander.

"I missed you on the subway." John's cheeks flare into forest fire territory. Who is this boy looking at him, flirting with him? That's what this is, right? Alex is flirting. John feels like nothing from his year with Peggy prepared him in any way whatsoever for having a gangly boy nudging his feet under the table. 

"I missed you." John breathes. Alex's face is so close to his, all those features John has memorized, branded into his head. John wants to kiss him. He could lean forward so easily, right into Alex's dry lips. Would he taste different than Peggy? Feel different? He must. John's imagined it, over and over again, but how could that compare to his mouth actually on Alexander's? John has to work to tear his eyes off Alex's lips. 

"What's the homework for tonight?" Alex is talking in this low voice that drives John wild. 

"We read the next two chapters." Damn it, John is still looking at Alex's mouth while he talks. John really likes his mouth. 

"That's not too bad. Also, do you think Lafayette and Hercules would be mad if we ditched them at lunch?" Alex is playing with a piece of hair that's loose from his ponytail. 

"Um, not really. Why?" Alex grins, kicking at John under the table. 

"I'm trying to ask you on a date, idiot." Alex's cheeks are pinking up. 

"Oh... oh. Oh, um, yes, yeah, I'd..." John is sputtering. "I'd like that." He swallows, trying to regain some sense of composure. "I'd really like that." Alex smiles at him, perfect teeth showing and everything. 

"Yeah?" His voice is soft and warm and it turns John's insides to a pat of butter on a hot pan. 

"Yeah." Alex touches John's hand with his own, his long fingers nudging their way between John's. John looks at him, chest too full to speak, and squeezes his fingers back. They're holding hands, under the desk in first block English. They're holding hands, and they have a lunch date.


	9. Chapter 9

LATE MARCH, 2016

It's been three weeks since John dropped his fork to the table with a clatter, that day in the cafe across from Alex. Three weeks, four lunch dates, almost constant texting (John's become an expert at hiding his phone under his desk), and still no boyfriend. John doesn't know how to tell Alex that he wants a relationship. He wants to be Alexander Hamilton's boyfriend. He wants to be able to hold his hand in the hallways and tell Lafayette and Hercules and put In a Relationship on his Facebook page. He doesn't know how to tell Alex. And what if Alex doesn't want to put a label on it? Not that John doesn't love how things are, he adores it, but he can't help wanting the title. That being said, he really does love what they're doing. Alex is undeniably the best kind-of, sort-of boyfriend anyone could ask for- John has come to class more than once to find Kit Kats or Reese's peanut butter cups or a mocha on his desk, and between the classes they don't have together, Alex waits at John's locker for him. As if he and Alex weren't together enough before, they're essentially attached at the hip now. John thinks that Lafayette and Hercules suspect that something's up. Last week, after John and Alex returned from the place down the block with greasy shared-grilled-cheese fingers, Hercules arched his brows and asked if there was anything they wanted to talk about. Alex raised his eyebrows back, cool as anything, and said no, like that was the most obvious answer in the world. That's another thing that blows John away about Alex- how's he's so cool under pressure. How he could debate anything with anyone and win, simply because he knows the most about everything and has the most intimidating stare. 

He doesn't use that stare on John. The way he looks at John isn't for anyone else. It's soft around the edges, his brows sloping up and his eyes crinkled. It makes John go weak in the knees every time. 

John gets to his locker after Honors Chem to find Alex there. He's smiling and bouncing on his heels, and it's hard to tell with Alex whether he's excited about something in particular or just that zealous about everything in his life. 

"Hi!" John can't help grinning at Alex as he twiddles his combination lock. (Alex can't open combination locks- it never works for him. It's the cutest fucking thing John has ever seen.)

"John Laurens, stunning as always." John feels his cheeks going hot (that makes his freckles show up better, he knows. And he knows that Alex likes his freckles) as he grins. 

"You're in a good mood." Alex is leaning against the locker next to John's, drinking a styrofoam cup of cafeteria coffee. John tried to count how many cups of coffee Alex downs in a day a while ago, but gave up when it was at six by lunch. John's not sure if he even sleeps. 

"Yes I am! The sun is shining, the hypothetical birds are chirping, I won my debate, you're here." John is smiling, digging his math textbook out of the mess at the bottom of his locker. 

"You're really cute." It still makes John's heart thump to say things like that to Alex, but he's just speaking the truth. Alex face breaks into a grin as he presses his palms into his cheeks. 

"Says you!" Alex says, voice bubbling. John is blushing harder now. He can't stop smiling at Alex. The bell rings, and Alex reaches out to touch John's arm for a long second, his eyes so warm. Then he's off, loping down the hall on his long legs. John stares after him, laughing. That boy. 

It's bothering John now, the fact that this whole thing doesn't have a label. What is he to Alex? Is he just a boy who Alex can flirt with and get attention from? Does he have ten of those? John knows that he's being ridiculous, but there's anxiety building in his stomach. He hates that he can't go to Lafayette and Hercules with this. What would they even say? Would they be okay with it? John is thinking too much. He wants to stop. Why can't he just let himself enjoy what he has, right here, right now, with Alex? He can't mess this up. It's the best thing he's ever had. God, he can't fuck this up because he's anxious. He just...can't. 

And now John feels guilty, about Peggy, about the year they were together. Because if what he thinks now is true, if he's gay, completely gay, then what was he doing? He lead her on. Because if he's honest with himself, he always felt misplaced in their relationship. He was just going through the motions, especially at the end. He just never knew why. He never knew why he didn't feel how he knew he should about her. His friends would talk about how lucky he was to have such a hot girlfriend, but that's never how he saw her. He knew she was gorgeous, that was a fact, but he was never saw her beyond that. And that was so unfair of him. She was nothing but amazing to him, and he lead her all the way on. He lead himself on. He has to apologize to her. Right now, he needs to apologize. He digs his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. 

John, 11:47 am: Hi. 

Peggy, 11:49 am: what do you want 

John, 11:50 am: I wanna talk to you. 

Peggy, 11:51 am: about what

John, 11:53 am: Something I need to apologize for. 

John watches the three little dots on the screen as she types. 

Peggy, 11:55 am: fine. i'll be by my locker after this class

John, 11:56 am: I'll see you then. 

John finds Peggy after math, next to her locker (number 173 on the second floor). She's glaring at him as he walks towards her, but it looks more confused than anything. John's strangely nervous- it's the first time he's talked to her since New Year's Eve. 

"Hi," he says, scratching his head. She's packing her bag, not saying anything. "So, uh... I'm just gonna talk." She looks at him, eyes cold, expectant.  
"Talk, then." Her voice brings back memories. He pushes them down. 

"I... wasn't fair to you in our relationship." She makes a noise that's between a snort and a sniff. 

"I'll say." Her voice isn't toned to hurt. She just sounds tired. 

"And I'm sorry. You deserved better." John swallows. He doesn't know how to get this out. Peggy is looking at the floor. 

"But I... couldn't be fair to you." It comes out like a question. She looks at him, brows furrowed in a frown. 

"What's that supposed to mean? I don't need your excuses, John." Her voice is mad now. "You weren't even there, at the end. You weren't there." 

"I know, I... I'm sorry." Peggy looks like she's going to punch him, or cry. 

"What do you mean, John." 

"I mean... I couldn't be." She stares at him. 

"Wh- no, never mind. I gotta go." She picks up her bag, going to walk past him. He catches her wrist. John's eyes are pricking. He can't cry. 

"Please, Peggy, please hear me out." She turns back to him, arms crossed. 

"Fine, just... talk." 

"Look, you're so amazing-" she's glaring. John pedals backwards, stammering. "I- I've realized I wasn't able to-"

"To be present in our relationship?" 

"No, to- Peggy, I-" Is he actually going to tell her this? She deserves to know. John's stomach is churning. "I'm-" Why can't he say it? "I'm pretty sure I'm-" He sees it in her eyes the moment she guesses. 

"John..." Her face goes through ten expressions in a second. "So was it a ruse the whole time?" Her eyes are getting wet. Fuck. 

"No, Peggy no. Not at all. I didn't even... realize until way after we broke up." 

"Is it Alex?" She says it stone cold, her eyes hard. John's stomach drops.  
"Wh- no." 

"The second he came around, that's when you stopped having time for me." 

"Peg, no, that's not-"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice is quiet, choked. 

"I didn't know. I promise I... didn't." She purses her lips, looking at him with big, wet eyes. "I'm sorry you were in that situation." John doesn't know what else to say. 

"So you weren't there with me because of your heart eyes for Alex?" She's talking too loud. John's stomach drops further. 

"Stop twisting my words, that's not- I didn't know, Peggy. And Alex isn't-" She gives him a look like she could turn him to stone and turns. John doesn't watch her walk away. He spins on his heel and runs the opposite direction.


	10. Chapter 10

LATE MARCH, 2016

Alex finds him, after the fourth period class John ditched. (He's never ditched class before. Sometimes Hercules and Lafayette sneak out after lunch, over to the comic book store or the arcade, but John doesn't go with them. He's just too full of lemon-sour anxiety to hold up his teacher's pet rep right now.) John is in a second-floor bathroom stall, his knees to his chest on the closed toilet. He thinks he's going to cry, feels the thick, stuffiness behind his eyes, but the tears refuse to come- it's maddening. His head is buried in his arms, his whole being a tight bundle of blooming, crushing anxiety. It feels like a fast growing weed in his chest, suffocating. The door creaks open, footsteps echoing in the tiled room. 

"John Laurens?" It's Alex's voice, as worried as John has ever heard it. John doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't. Alex calls his name again. He likes how Alex uses his full name, like there might be another John squirreled away in the bathroom. John could ignore him, wait it out until he leaves. But Alex is the only person he cares about talking to right now. The only person he could talk to. John slowly unwinds, his feet clapping against the floor.

"There you are, oh my god." Alex's voice is thick with relief. "I've looked everywhere. I was scared you left." Alex's feet, with their black Converse high tops, are in front of John's stall now. John can hear him breathing heavy, like he's been running up stairs. 

"How'd you know I was missing? You're not in my math." 

"I ran into Peggy in the hall." John's chest immediately caves in with a rush of anxiety. 

"Shit..." 

"She told me I should... go find my boyfriend." John's head is back on his knees. "What happened, John?" John's gone mute, his vocal chords giving up the ghost. 

"John," Alex's voice is so gentle. "Please open the door." John sighs into his knees. He's got to oblige Alex. John reaches out to unlock the door. It swings open a few inches, creaking. And there he is, his brow furrowed as he stares back at John. Then Alexander is in the stall, pulling the door closed again. John can't help laughing, just a little, because this is the dream, isn't it? Locked in a bathroom stall with Alexander Hamilton. Alex puts his hands on John's shoulders. 

"Wanna tell me what's going on? I've been involved in a Peggy emergency before." His voice is so kind, coaxing John along. His hands are warm on John's shoulders, grounding him. John doesn't know how Alex can make him feel equal parts weightless and tethered, like he's finally safe and real. 

"You're late to class." John protests. Not that he wants Alex to leave. He never wants Alex to leave. 

"Its anatomy, I want to be late." John knows Alex likes anatomy. He's good at it- he's good at everything. But he's staying, and that makes John's chest warm. Right now, he does feel like a boyfriend, bending down in front of John. 

"Talk to me." Alex's voice is barely above a whisper. He brushes a curl that John didn't even realize was in his face behind John's ear. He rests his hand on John's face, then. It's cool and smooth and no one has ever touched John like this. 

"I thought..." Alex is looking at him in a way that makes John want to tell him everything, everything. "I thought I owed her an explanation." His eyes are getting wet now. 

"For what?"

"For why I wasn't even... involved in our relationship. It's cause I couldn't...like her the same way." 

"You told her?" John puts his head in his hands. 

"She... guessed about you. About us."

"Did you say anything?" John can't read Alex's expression. 

"I denied it, I guess. I didn't know what you wanted or- I think she still suspects." John is breathing too fast. What if this ruins them? Alex still has a hand on John's cheek. 

"Hey," John looks at him. He doesn't look mad. He doesn't look scared. He's Alex. His Alex. "I think... it's okay if people know. I want people to know." All the air in the room has been sucked out. John can't believe what he's hearing. 

"About us?" 

"Yeah, yes, if that's okay with you."

"That's... really okay with me." Is Alex saying what John thinks he's saying? That he wants this, them, to be official?

"Okay, well..." Alex sounds unsure of what to say, something John hasn't seen from him. "Do you, uh, wanna be my boyfriend? Like, for real?" John feels, if it's possible, even more like he's about to spin out of the atmosphere than that day in the cafe. 

"I really do, for real." Alex eyes light up, smiling like he's trying to suppress it. He bites at his lower lip, his cheeks flushed. John is giggling, he can't help it, and looking up at Alex. Alex, his boyfriend. 

"My boyfriend." John says, the words so foreign on his lips that he reaches up to touch them. 

"Yeah," Alex's voice is soft. He looks ethereal. "my boyfriend." Alex is smiling at him, and it feels like John is sitting in the sun. This must be the most insane thing that John has ever experienced- sitting under this boy in a bathroom stall with his hand on John's face and his smile silencing everything John wants to say.

"Alex-" Alex puts his other hand on John's face. "I don't know what to say, Alex." 

"You don't have to say anything." And Alex is leaning in, he's leaning in, and his lips touch John's for a split second that lasts ten years. They're dry and warm and John stops breathing when they touch. Then Alex is gone, stammering as he backs into the door and throws it open, leaving John with his mouth open, breathing hard. He drops his head, letting out a shocked gasp of laughter. His lips are tingling like they've been shot through with lightning. 

Did he just get kissed by Alexander Hamilton?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been forever since I posted I'm sorry !! I'm on spring break and I lost my iPad and ahhh but I finally cranked something out ! Hope you all enjoy

EARLY APRIL, 2016

John doesn't think he's really slept, a full night of uninterrupted slumber, since the kiss. He's played it out in his head a hundred thousand times, imagining and reimagining the way Alex's lips felt when they hit his for that fraction of a moment while he waits at his bus stop. As if it wasn't hard enough to keep his eyes off Alexander's mouth before this. John's noticed a slight change in Alex since they made it official, since the kiss. He's shyer, careful with John in a way he never was before. Like he doesn't want to lose him. It makes John's heart go soft, that Alex could be scared of losing him. Alex touches him more now, too, in an absentminded, habitual way. Resting a hand on John's knee or shoulder when they sit next to each other, tracing his fingers over John's wrist, brushing hair out of John's face like he's been doing it his whole life. Every time they touch Alex stirs up a storm on John's skin. Alex has taken to tracing between the freckles on John's arms, making up constellations from the smattered pigmentation. 

They've fallen into a comfortable pattern- Alex waits for John in the front hall before the first bell, and insists on walking him to every class, holding the doors. (He's such a gentleman. If John could bring him home, he thinks his parents would like him. Except for that tiny, crucial pronoun.) They sit next to each other at their lunch table, hands clasped under it more often than not. (Their friends definitely suspect something at this point, John is pretty sure. They're planning to tell them. Soon.) And they talk on the phone at night, usually until John can't keep his eyes open- Alex is never tired. John still isn't sure if he sleeps. But on him, dark circles are more of a fashion statement than anything- they just add to his rumpled adorability. John loves their phone calls. He loves hearing Alex's voice- he could listen to it every minute of every day. It's strong and rich and John thinks Alex's neurons must fire faster than everyone else's, because he can put together impossibly eloquent sentences in less than the time it takes for John to gather his thoughts. And Alex has another voice too, a softer one, that he uses sometimes just for John. 

Everything about that boy drives John wild. It's like he's saving scraps of paper, filing them away in his brain, of each of the tiny things he notices about Alex. He's collecting them, each new piece of information giving John more delightful insight into Alex's head. How he takes his coffee (one cream, five sugars), how his handwriting starts small and perfect on the page but is looping past the margins by the end of his first paragraph, how his hair smells when he's showered the night before, how his eyes light up when someone mentions something he's interested in, how his lips curl into a shy smile just before he takes John's hand. John could go on and on and on. 

He's waiting for Alex at the subway station. The air is brisk and biting, like the first taste of an apple, but the sun is shining and it feels good on John's face. John feels good, in general. Light. He's been less anxious, and it's got to be because of Alex. He has that affect- just being in the same room as him is like sitting by a fire when it's cold. He's just so there- so sweet and bright and present, and John can't breathe when he thinks about how he somehow has this boy, this sunshine boy. 

"John!" It sends a happy chill through John to hear that voice. Alex is running through the throng of people towards him, loping like a gazelle on those ridiculous, adorable long legs. 

"Alexander!" John likes calling him that in public, likes how it always embarrasses Alex just enough to tint his ears pink. Alex skids to a rather abrupt stop in front of John, grinning like he's in a toothpaste commercial (which he really could be- his teeth are so perfect that they almost look fake). John gives him a little arm bump that's a third of the way to holding hands. He wants to hold Alex's hand, he really wants to. And he doesn't like being scared of doing that. Especially now that they're supposed to be, officially, an item. Not as much has changed because of that as John wishes would- he wants to hold Alexander's hand on the subway stop platform, surrounded by people. He wants to, and he hates being scared. It's like Alex knows what he's thinking. He touches John's wrist, then bows his head just slightly to meet John's. 

"Can I?" John nods, feeling like a few dozen amps of electricity have scorched him clean. Alex knots his fingers between John's, tight, like he's worried someone will try to tear them apart. He looks at John, smiling the slightest bit. They're holding hands, in public, under the cerulean sky. 

"How are you?" John asks. He can't get over this mundane, perfect, demonstration of their relationship. Alex's hand feels so right in his, like they were molded to fit together. Alex is smiling at him. 

"I'm good, I'm tired. My anatomy test was exhausting." He dramatizes the final word, drawing it out with a sigh. John is laughing, half expecting Alex to put a hand to his forehead in defeat. 

"I bet, but you made it." John knows Alex did well. Alex always does well. 

"Barely. Hey, do you have much homework tonight?" John hmm's, mentally going through his classes. 

"No, hmm, just some Chemistry I think." Alex smiles, and John knows there's something up his sleeve. 

"Good, cause I'm taking you somewhere." John raises his eyebrows, his heart thumping happily. 

"Really?" 

"Yes, really. It's called a date, lover boy." John giggles, swatting Alex. 

"What's the occasion?" 

"Does there need to be an occasion to take my boyfriend out?" John's breath stops short in his nose. Alex said it, he called John it. John's smiling too much to answer for a good ten seconds. 

"Well, I'm not objecting." The subway has pulled up, and Alex is tugging at John's hand as he elbows through the small crowd. 

"I'm glad you're not." They find two seats together, still holding hands. John really likes this, he really likes being public with it. If they're getting looks, he hasn't noticed. They chatter about Alex's test and how the cafeteria breakfast for lunch meal is disgraceful, John leaning into Alex's side ever so slightly on the gross subway seats. Alex pulls John up at an unfamiliar stop that's a ways before the one John regularly gets off at, bouncing out onto the sidewalk. It's a part of town John has passed through a hundred times but never really noticed. 

"Where are we going?" He asks Alex, who's already leading him off down the street. 

"You'll see!" They're still holding hands. John never wants to let go of Alex. They've walked for a good ten minutes when Alex suddenly turns off the main road onto a smaller street. There are brick walls splashed with bright graffiti and overgrown trees and bushes lining the concrete. 

"Alex," John holds it out, pretending to whine. "Tell me where we're going!" Alex just shakes his head, smiling. 

"Not yet!" John huffs and squeezes Alex's hand tighter. Alex makes another turn, and they're in a park- it's as overgrown and unkempt as the streets were, but the lushness of the green exploding out of the concrete jungle takes John's breath away. 

"What is this place?" John's aware that his voice is oddly hushed, the way you might talk in a church or a cemetery. 

"I found it the first day I moved here." Alex's voice has that air of reverence in it too. 

"It's..." John can't think of the right word. "astonishing." Alex looks over at him, eyes soft. 

"Like you." Alex says, his voice milk and honey. John's blushing, unable to speak. Alex thinks he's astonishing. No one's ever used a word like that to describe John. He tightens his grip further on Alex's fingers. 

"C'mere," Alex is walking carefully, leading John deeper into the park. It's really just a small lot, brick walls on three sides, nearly invisible under the green. Someone must've planted these trees here decades ago, strewn seeds over the soil. Alex looks different here- less fiery, like peace has washed over his features, settling them. He's taking John towards the back wall of this personal Eden, his Converse-clad feet skipping lightly over the roots and vines of the ground. John doesn't want to breathe too loudly. Then Alex is sitting, tugging John down beside him. 

"Look." Alex murmurs. He's brushing a section of greenery away from the brick wall that's behind them. As he clears the section of wall, John begins to make out something written there, scratched into the brick as if with the edge of a rock. He squints (Alex's thing right now is ragging John about needing reading glasses; John's thing is ignoring him and stubbornly refusing to move closer to the board) to make out the letters.   
It's a J. And an L. It's his initials. 

John looks over at Alex, feeling his eyes sting without his permission. Alex's head is a little bowed, and he's looking at John. 

"When did you do this?"

"The first day I came here." 

"The first day we met?"

"That's the one." Alex's voice is so soft. John squeezes his hand, but that's not enough. That's not enough to show this brilliant boy how full John's heart is right now, because of him. John turns to him so they're facing head-on. 

"Alex..." John puts the hand that isn't holding his on Alex's cheek. He's so close. He's so close and warm and here and now. "Can I kiss you?" John doesn't realize he's going to say this until it's out of his mouth. And then it is out, it's hanging there between them. And Alex's eyes are just a little wider than usual, his lips just a little more open. Then he's leaning into John, a second time, but now it's slow and purposeful and John has the time to close his eyes and tilt his head before their lips collide. 

And John can't believe Alex hasn't kissed anyone before, because what he's doing with his mouth and jaw and tongue is unraveling John from the inside out. And John is trying to remember what to do, what he did with Peggy, but this is nothing like kissing Peggy. This is nothing like anything John has felt, ever.

They kiss for what feels like days, centuries, milliseconds. John's lost track of time and direction and gravity. Like the only things holding him to the earth are Alexander's lips. When they do break apart, Alex is panting, his hair messy around his pink face (was it down when they started kissing?). John can feel his ears flaming as Alex slides his palms down John's arms, back to his hands. 

"Hi," Alex's voice is husky, low. 

"Hi." John still doesn't feel like he's touching the ground. Alex leans against the brick. John keels into him, feeling the bone of his shoulder, the muscle of his arm and chest. Alex is holding John's hand, rubbing at the base of his thumb. John wonders if Alex's nerves are all firing off at random like his are, his heart catapulting against his ribs. Alex begins to stand, helping John up. Gentleman. 

"Let's get out of here, Laurens."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a short something that I pulled out of my ass

LATE APRIL, 2016

"Do you two wanna tell us what's going on?" Hercules is leaning on his elbows across the table, looking hard at John, then over at Alex. John's stomach twists, and not from the tater tot eating contest he just held with Alex. (Alex won, of course, gobbling his paper tray of tots in under a minute.) He knew they'd have to tell their friends eventually, but actually being faced by it is turning John's hands clammy. Alex glances over at John. John can't read his expression- his eyes are set. (All of Alex's expressiveness comes directly from his eyes and brows, John's noticed.) He looks back at their friends across the table. Hercules has a mad scary stare, and he's using it right now on Alex. 

"What do you mean?" He's buying time, John thinks, to come up with the right way to tell them. 

"You know what he means." Lafayette interjects. "You two aren't at lunch with us half the time, and you're practically attached at the hip. Is there something going on?" John swallows. He doesn't trust himself to speak- he'll leave it to Alex. Alex, who always knows what to say, who's always cool and impossibly collected. 

"Well..." Alex's voice is meeker than usual, and it's unsettling. "John and I have been..." He trails off. Lafayette's eyebrows have nearly risen into his hairline. 

"We've been, uh, seeing each other." It tumbles out of John in a rush. Alex, beside him, goes red. There's a crushing, absolute silence, a suffocating bubble around the four of them that seems to block out the rest of the cacophonous lunchroom. 

"Oh," Hercules says. He's looking down at the table, his mouth a little open. Lafayette is point-blank staring at them, eyes as big as dinner plates. There's more silence. 

"I fucking told you!" Lafayette shoves Hercules' arm. "You owe me." 

"Wait, you thought we were?" Alex speaks, finally, his voice rough. 

"I mean, I knew you had a thing for curly here, but..." Alex goes an even deeper shade of red. "John, are you throwing it back for Mr. Caribbean?" Lafayette is laughing, and though John is ready to melt through the floor with embarrassment, he's beyond grateful that Laf is reacting this way. 

"Shut up, man." Alex is laughing a little too, his ears still burnt red at the tips. Hercules, however, is still staring at them like they've transfigured in front of his eyes. 

"Why didn't you tell us?" John deflates, immediately feeling the crush of guilt on his chest. "You tell us everything." 

"I'm...sorry." John says. And he is- he realizes now that it was a mistake to keep them out of the loop for this long. 

"Man, I dunno, it's always seemed like you two are just your own little group. I guess it makes sense that you'd be getting it on too." John's eyes are welling. Why is Hercules being so mean? 

"Herc," Alex's voice is quiet, confused. He feels for John's hand under the table, takes it. Alex's palm steadies John. 

"You just butted your way in, didn't you? You came in here, all new and mysterious, and took John from us." Alex flinches back, concaving. 

"Stop it, don't talk to him like that!" John's crying a little now, burning salt on his cheeks, and it's so humiliating. Herc focuses his stone cold gaze on John. 

"It was always you and me and Laf." Hercules gets up, pushing his chair back with an awful scraping squeal. "Congrats on the relationship." 

"Hercules!" Lafayette shouts after him. He's gone. Lafayette turns to them, panic in his eyes. 

"He's just... surprised that you didn't tell us." Lafayette's fiddling with his hands. "Honestly, you guys, I'm really happy for you." He gives them a little smile. "I should go find Herc." And then it's just Alex and John, alone at their cafeteria table, their hands clenched so tightly under it that their knuckles are going white. 

The subway ride home is quiet and odd. John's never known Alex to be this silent for this long. He's looking out the window, at the buildings and cars that blur together into a jumble of speeding color. John is leaning against him, the feeling of Alex's warm form grounding him. 

"Are you okay?" Silent Alex is worrying him.

"Did I butt in?" John's chest squeezes at how sad Alex's voice is. 

"Alex, no." John grabs for his hand. "I invited you to our table, remember?" Alex looks down at their clasped hands. 

"Hercules clearly resents that." Alex's voice is broken- it shatters John's heart to pieces like a china plate. (John dropped one of his mom's best on the kitchen floor when he was seven. He still remembers the way it splintered in a wave around him, the way his dad's shouting voice sounded as he scooped John onto the counter, out of the line of fire.)

"I don't know what his problem is." John is getting angry now- how could Hercules have talked to Alex like that?

"I stole you away from them. They don't like me for that." Alex's eyes are wet, enormous. 

"Stop it. Look, you're the most important thing going on in my life right now, okay? They can get used to that." The words are pouring out of John, things he's barely thought of but knows are true. 

"I am?"

"Yes, you are. Of course you are." 

"What about your friends? Y'know, bros before hoes." John can't help laughing a little at Alex saying "hoes". 

"Well, you were my bro first, before this. And you're so not a hoe, you're... everything." Alex softens into John's shoulder, warm and smelling like coffee and peppermints, his hair so soft against John's neck. 

"Really?" Alex sounds like a little kid, his eyes wide. It makes John melt. 

"Yes, really." Alex puts his head on John's shoulder. 

"I've never been someone's everything before." John smiles at him, feeling teary without knowing why.

"How do you like it so far?" Alex squeezes his hand. 

"I like it a lot."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this incredibly inaccurate chapter because surprise surprise I've never been to a high school party

LATE APRIL, 2016

Thomas Jefferson is throwing a party. John learns this from Alex while they share a cafeteria ham and cheese in the sunny courtyard at lunch, leaning up against the brick wall of the school. John wrinkles his nose, ripping a bit of crust off his sandwich (Alex teases him mercilessly for not liking crusts, but that's coming from a boy who puts ketchup on his mac and cheese). He's not a fan of Thomas Jefferson- he's a senior in Alex's anatomy class who thinks he's all that just because he's got the biggest hair in the city and a lacrosse scholarship to some Ivy League school. Honestly, John isn't much of a fan of anyone who gets to talk to Alex. John's trying to tamp down his jealousy that Alex is apparently all buddy-buddy with a senior. 

"So, what do you think?" Alex is tossing grapes into the air and failing to catch about 90% of them in his mouth. 

"I don't know..." The truth is, John hasn't ever been to a high school party. Nothing seems less like his scene than sweaty people in a crowded room doing keg stands while rap blasts. 

"I was thinking it'd be a good chance to talk to Herc, since he's avoiding us here." John groans. 

"I don't wanna talk to him." 

"C'mon, he's one of our best friends. We can't ignore him forever." John hates Alex for being so reasonable and right. 

"We could..." Alex giggles, offering John his bag of chips. 

"Let's go, okay? I'll talk to Hercules, at least." John sighs, melodramatic. 

"Fine. But I'm not doing a keg stand."

"No one's asking you to, Laurens." 

 

The room is full of smoke, like the machines they have at middle school dances. Only this smoke is the real thing, lit by the glowing ends of cigarette butts in the fog. John is already anxious, and they've been here for a solid thirty seconds. Alex promised they'd leave after they found Hercules, but John is regretting coming at all. At least Alex is here, next to him, elbowing through the heard of people. This has to be nearly everyone in the school- they're packed like sardines into the room. The house is huge, much more so than John's loft, and a stark contrast to Alex's little cookie cutter apartment. There's a shout, and what sounds like a bottle breaking. Alex finds John's hand, a gesture that John is beyond grateful for. People have joints, and the smell alone makes John feel a little woozy and far away. Alex says something that John can't make out over the music- he can feel the bass in his lungs. 

"What?" His own voice gets lost in the air. Alex leans into him. 

"Lafayette says he's here with Hercules!" He shouts. 

"Okay!" John shouts back, feeling his stomach twist. He really doesn't want to show down with Hercules, or whatever Alex has planned. He can't see this going well. 

One upside of this party is that Alex is slightly more dressed up than usual, and he looks amazing. He's got a short sleeved blue button down open over a white shirt, his hair slicked into a bun that only he could make work. John is wearing his usual, skinny jeans and an old t-shirt. And John really likes that Alex is holding his hand like this, where anyone could see. He feels a bit more at ease than he did when they first walked in, his senses adjusting to the overload. There's a keg in the corner, some poor sophomore being held upside down by his friends above it, and beer bottles on every available surface. John has to admit, he feels cool at his first high school party, with the cutest boy in school holding his hand. 

"Do you want something to drink?" Alex is yelling. John nods. He could use something to mellow him out, just a little bit. Alex grabs two unopened silver cans from a big bucket of melting ice on the kitchen counter. John pops the tab of his, ignoring the slight shake in his hands. Alex notices it (he notices everything) and puts his other hand on the one John has on his beer. 

"Do you want to go?" His brows are knit, worried. John doesn't want to worry Alex. 

"No, no, I'm okay." John manages a smile, enough to smooth Alex's forehead. 

"Let me know if you need to." Alex squeezes John's hand. John takes a sip of his beer, wincing as it burns his throat. But it warms his chest as it goes down, and after half the can he feels smudged and calm. Alex seems to talk even more, if possible, with alcohol in his system. He's yammering away in John's ear as they circle the house (what do you do at a party? So far, it's been a lot of drinking and walking and mumbled hellos) and it's so adorable that John wants to kiss his face right here. 

"We should find Hercules." Alex is scanning the room, standing on his tiptoes. 

"What are you going to say to him?" One can through- John is buzzy and light. 

"I don't know, just... I need to say something." That's when John sees him. More accurately, he sees Lafayette's head of hair bobbing over the crowd, then finds Hercules next to him. He tugs Alex's sleeve, gesturing at them. 

"Hercules!" Alex's voice is loud. It makes John nervous. Is he drunk? What's he going to say, or do? Hercules turns, sees them. He sneers, saying something to Lafayette, who looks like he's trying to reason with him. John suddenly feels like this was a horrible, terrible idea. Hercules is walking with a sway- he's gone. He's twice as big as Alex as well as John, and he looks mad. 

"Alex, Alex, we gotta go." John is tugging his arm, but Alex is rooted to the spot. Whatever is about to happen is going to play out, no matter what John does. And then Hercules is in front of them. 

"Hi," he says, voice calm and terrifying. "Having fun?" Alex has his shoulders back and it makes him look twenty stories high. 

"Herc, we don't want to fight." 

"Oh, you speak for him now, huh? First you had to take him all for yourself, now he's your bitch?" John's heart is in his throat. 

"Hercules, stop." John says. His voice is so small they probably don't hear. 

"Okay, I don't know what the fuck your problem is, man." Alex is getting mad. "You're one of my best friends. He's one of your best friends. We thought you'd be fucking happy for us." 

"Yeah, well," Hercules is shouting, gesturing with a solo cup. "life is tough, pretty boy." He's wasted. John's ears are roaring. The room is too bright and too loud. He stumbles back, into someone he doesn't know. They turn him by his shoulder, put a shot glass in his hand. John looks back at Alex- he's not looking at John. He's up in Hercules' face, shouting indistinguishably. John turns away, drains the shot like it's Gatorade. It sears his throat, his nose, his chest, all the way down. He thinks he might throw up before the burning subsides, but it does, leaving him teary and gasping. He can't tell what the alcohol was, doesn't care. When he looks back, Alex is practically spitting in Hercules' face. Herc looks like he's about to throw a punch, knock Alex flat. Alex says something John doesn't make out, and Hercules lunges. There's a scream (John can't tell if it's his own) and Hercules has Alex by the collar with his toes barely on the ground. John thinks he's crying and the whole room is a cacophony of light and sound and panic. And then it's like some switch inside John flips, and he's flying into the fray. 

"Don't fucking touch my boyfriend!" John is screaming, the noise raw and hoarse and awful. His fist flies without the thought going through his head, like his body is doing what it needs to on autopilot. It cracks on Hercules' cheek without sending any feeling through John's fingers. Alex howls, the whole building howls, and John is being hauled back by his shoulders. Alex drags him off Hercules, who's bleeding (from his mouth? His nose?) and cursing, fist flying blindly, looking for John. Alex is crying, his chest heaving, and all the pain floods back into John in a tidal wave, sending him keeling to the floor. His wrist and hand are on fire, the skin and muscle melting off the bone as his stomach tries to claw its way up his throat. 

"John, John, John, John." Alex is sobbing, pulling John to his feet. "Let's go, we gotta go, we need to go." John doesn't know how he gets to the front door without falling, how he gets to the street, how he gets in the taxi Alex flags down. Alex stops crying after a couple of blocks. He's checking John's hand which is blooming with an already-yellowing bruise across all the knuckles, murmuring "you're okay, you're okay, you're okay," over and over, like a prayer. John wonders if it's John or himself that he's talking to. John is quivering, the buzz from the beer and the shot wearing off as fast as it came. Alex is holding him in the backseat of the taxi, stroking the loose curls off his forehead and behind his ears. The windows are down and John is gulping the night air by the lungful- it's sobering and keeping his nausea at bay.

"That could've gone better." Alex mutters, and it's such an understatement that John breaks into choking peals of laughter.

"It definitely could've." John gives Alex the once over. His white t-shirt has a stain on the front that looks like someone doused him with a beer, and his bun is coming loose, but he looks okay. Well, he looks amazing. Like he always does.

"I lost my temper." Alex sighs, chewing at his lip. 

"You did? I'm the one with the busted hand." Everything about the situation strikes John as hilarious right now. He can't tell if it's the alcohol doing that or just because of the wild parallel to reality that this whole night has been. Alex is laughing too now, still rubbing John's aching hand. 

"You didn't have to punch your friend out to defend me." Alex looks bashful. 

"Of course I did." John is leaning against Alex, almost lying in his lap. "And I'm not so sure if he's my friend anymore." 

"You might've overreacted, but it was sorta hot. All knight-in-shining-armor-esque." John feels his brows creeping towards his hairline as he looks at Alex. 

"Is that so?" Alex licks his lips (John feels a jump below his stomach when he does this- Jesus Christ), nodding. 

"Yes, that's so." 

"Does violence get you going?" Alex rolls his eyes, smirking. 

"No, but lightweight ruffians with impulse control issues do." John can't believe that being called a ruffian turns him on, but out of Alex's mouth... John shakes his head a little. He'd prefer not to get it up in the back of a taxi. Alex seems to sense John's struggle and smirks at him again. That boy can smirk like nobody's business- it's a whole affair, rife with eyebrows and a lip curl. 

"Do you wanna get ice cream?" It's such a quick turnaround that John giggles. 

"Of course I do." Alex stops the taxi and pays, despite John's protests, and they tumble out onto the street. It's a bit after midnight (John told his parents he was sleeping at Alex's- Alex told his he'd be at John's) but the streets are still lit up and bustling. Friday night in New York doesn't have a closing time. Alex tugs John across the street, holding his hand, to a brightly glowing Dairy Queen. John suddenly realizes how dry his mouth is and how fucking wonderful a mint chocolate chip Blizzard sounds right now. 

They order cheeseburgers and fries dripping with grease and the biggest size of Blizzard to share. Alex has his arm around John's shoulders as they order, and they ignore the semi-disapproving gaze of the older woman behind the counter. The food tastes like God himself whipped it up just for their tipsy-off-one-beer asses to enjoy. Alex is licking the fry salt from his fingers almost obscenely, definitely just to get a rise out of John (maybe a literal one) until John can't handle just watching him any more. He stands up, pushing back his chair with upholstery that hasn't been updated since the early 80's. 

"C'mere." 

If John's going to break the rules (out past eleven, drinking, downtown without his parents knowing), he's going to break all of them. And even though "no grinding against a boy in the Dairy Queen bathroom" wasn't an explicitly stated one, John was fairly certain that, from his parent's standpoint, it was a big no no. John feels like the laws of gravity aren't acting on them anymore. He feels like he could do anything. And even if he could do anything, being pressed against a stall door by Alexander Hamilton blows everything else out of the water. 

"John," Alex's voice is a sigh and it makes John's knees go weak. Alex's mouth is roaming from John's mouth to his neck and back again, like he's done it a million times before. Alex's tongue is fucking awe-inspiring, unwinding John. John's hands are gracing his back, feeling over his ribs and hips on top of his shirt. He doesn't try to mimic what Alex is doing or push back, just melts into his mouth and touch. Alex gives a soft roll of his hips that sends a shuddering gasp through John's entire body. Shit. Alex must like John's reaction, because he rolls his hips again, harder. John makes a noise that he didn't know could come from his body as he scratches up Alex's back, involuntarily. Alex sighs, something halfway between "fuck" and John's name. 

John is making out with Alexander Hamilton. That thought makes him so giddy that he nearly squeals into Alex's mouth. John can't help but feel impressed at himself tonight- a high school rager, hard liquor, out past curfew, and now with his tongue down the throat of a hot boy in Dairy Queen. It's like the high school experience he never had is catching up to him in a rush. Alex makes a little noise that goes straight through John, a growly whine. John is this close to tearing off Alex's button up when the bathroom door opens. Alex backs up, throwing a finger over his lips in a shushing motion. John immediately has to shuffle his jeans around a little, untucking the front of his shirt. They get out of the bathroom as fast as they can (the last thing they need is a sexual predator ban from Dairy Queen), giggly and stumbling. The air outside is brisk and breezy and the whole night feels like something out of a life that isn't John's at all. Alex kisses him on the sidewalk as they wait for a taxi, casual as anything, and John can't be sure that he isn't dreaming.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a week since I updated... I've been very busy with school & personal stuff, I'm sorry!! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

LATE APRIL, 2016

This side of Alex in the taxi is something John has never seen before. He's draped over John, leaning against his side with his legs in John's lap. He's putting his hands in John's hair, giving him these tiny kisses from John's temple to his neck. It's the sexiest fucking thing John has ever seen. Alex slides a hand down John's back, barely grazing it with his fingers. Like John could get any redder, any more out of breath. His heart is echoing in his whole body, making his hands tremble. Because he thinks Alex is taking him back to his apartment, and God. Alexander. His apartment, where his bed is. Where he gets undressed, where he showers. Shit, where he showers. 

"You okay, babe?" Alex's voice is warm and murmured and it turns John to jelly. John barely feels the alcohol anymore, doesn't feel the muted tingle, which means it's all Alex making him this way. 

"I'm okay." Okay doesn't begin to cover it. God, he has Alexander Hamilton in his lap. He's so, so okay. Alex stops the taxi (John manages to fumble his way into his wallet first this time. There's no way he's letting Alex pay for two rides in one night) and pulls John out by the hand, giggling. 

"Wanna see my bedroom, Laurens?" All the blood in John's body goes to his face at this paper-thinly veiled offer. 

"I've seen it, Hamilton. You've got superhero sheets." John doesn't recognize his own voice.

"I'm a superhero in those sheets." Alex cocks a brow and John can feel his mouth dropping open at how perfectly fucking horrible that was.

"I hate you." Smooth Alex renders John practically incompetent.

"That was good. C'mon, admit it, that was good."

"God, it was." John is laughing, still flabbergasted at this boy who's standing in front of him with his hand on John's waist. 

"Let's go upstairs." 

The superhero sheets are still on Alex's bed. John's heart is beating out of his chest- what's the etiquette for being in your boyfriend's bedroom for the first time since that became a thing? Can John just pounce on him? He thinks he's looking at Alex the way someone who's starving to death might look at a steak. He thinks Alex likes it. Alex struts, actually struts, to his record player, his hips swaying. God. John can't look away. Alex is putting something on, and it's like John is watching him in slow motion, with every movement perfect and deliberate. There's a beat of music, something slow and soft and thrumming with bass, and Alex turns. 

"Hi."

"Hi." John can't breathe. Is this happening?

"I like to look at you." It's such a simple thing, so straightforward, but it makes John tingle like he's been shot through with a couple thousand volts of electricity. 

"Alex..." This boy. This boy. John can't breathe. 

"I do." 

"Me too," God. God. "I like...you. I like you here." 

"You mean, in my bedroom, about to go sit on my bed?"

"Yeah, yes, that's what I mean." Is John even saying this aloud? It's like his focus has tunneled to Alex, Alex, Alex, stamping out everything else around him. Alex slinks across the room, sitting on a low beam of the ladder leading up to his bed. He's looking at John with these huge eyes, like he's trying to memorize him. 

"C'mere, Laurens." John feels like he's walking on air as he steps towards Alex. He stands in front of him, so close that he can see the reflection of the string lights over the door in Alex's eyes. Alex puts his hands on John's hips, slow and soft, curling his fingers around them. Everywhere that his fingertips put pressure, John's skin is on fire. Alex is looking up at him, his face smooth and open and wondrous. And he's holding John's hips and breathing and real and here. Alexander. His Alexander. 

"I can't believe..." John doesn't know what he's trying to say. Alex smiles up at him. 

"I know." He's trailing his fingertips over the small of John's back now, and it feels so good that John could purr. 

"Let's... go up?" John doesn't know, he can't begin to know what to do. But he knows he wants to feel Alex close to him, as close as he can be. Alex nods- he looks flushed, untied. He stands to turn to the ladder, and when he takes his hands off John it feels like a phantom limb, the ghost of his fingers still pulsing through John's skin. John tries not to stare as Alex climbs the ladder, even though his butt is in John's face, and it's a... really nice butt. Alex gets to the top and smiles down at John, who scrambles up after him. He's not even trying to not come across as desperate now. He's so desperate for Alex. 

Alex's loft bed feels like the top of the world. Alex scoots against the wall to give John room to sit. His sheets (superhero sheets) are flannel and soft and, oh god, Alex has slept in these sheets.

"John Laurens is in my bed." Alex is grinning, his cheeks pink as he looks at John from under his brows. 

"I'm in Alexander Hamilton's bed." John laughs saying it, because how is that true? Alex scoots towards him. 

"Stay." 

The record stops with a scratch of the needle, but Alex doesn't. He's laying next to John, holding his face in his palms. Kissing him. His mouth hasn't stopped working, up and down John's neck, his jawline, his lips. He's simultaneously so gentle and so in control, his lips taking and pulling and making John forget his own name. John's hands are looped around Alex's waist, pulling him close, close, close. He wants Alex so near to him. John touches Alex's thigh, quick and impulsive, and the noise Alex makes... John has to pull away, breathe deep. 

"Shit." Alex's hair is a mess, his lips pink and swollen ever so slightly. He looks ruined, his mouth open and his chest rising and falling fast. John is coming apart, here in Alexander Hamilton's bed. 

"Shit." Alex rubs his face. "You can't expect me to remember that my parents are in the house while you're groping my thighs." John is trying so, so hard not to look at Alex's lap. 

"I'm sorry..." John's voice is raspy. Alex reaches a hand out, dragging his fingers over an exposed strip of skin of John's stomach, where his tee has ridden up. He's touching each of the freckles scattered there, pressing down just hard enough to send chills through John's stomach. Alex's fingers are cool and long and, god, don't long fingers mean something? 

"John..."

"Yeah?"

"I've never done this."

"Me neither."

"No, I've never... not just not with a boy. You know that."

"Me neither." John feels embarrassed without knowing why. 

"You mean, you and Peggy never...?" John bites his lip, shaking his head. Alex reaches out to brush a curl behind John's ear. 

"I'm gonna be your first." Alex is blushing, his voice soft. "And you're gonna be mine." John is so close to spontaneous combustion that's its most likely a fire hazard. He can't do anything but nod, pushing his head into Alex's shoulder.   
"Wow." He can finally get a word out, and it's "wow"? God, Laurens. Alex smiles, finding John's hand between them. 

"Wow is right." There's a minute of silence, their heartbeats bouncing off each other in their palms. 

"Alex?"

"Yes?"

"Is it okay if I kiss you some more?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that this chapter and some that follow contain a minor character (non-graphic) death from terminal illness.

LATE APRIL, 2016

John spends the night in Alex's bed. Nothing happens, nothing beyond more kissing and some light groping and Alex's little sighs. But feeling Alex's warm form against him puts John so on edge that he barely sleeps. The sun is just beginning to dawn through Alex's window, casting ghostly shadows across the bed, illuminating Alex's face and hair. John remembers watching Alex like this on the night of Valentine's Day from the blowup bed on the floor. And now his legs are tangled with Alex's, Alex's arm draped over John's waist- talk about character development. Alex is breathing quietly- it sounds like wind in the trees, a noise John hasn't hears for a long, long time. He's so warm and soft and peaceful, and John's heart is close to exploding. Alex fell asleep rubbing John's still-sore hand, tracing the bruising skin with his fingertips. 

"I can't believe you punched someone for me." He'd said, leaning into John's shoulder. His parents never stuck their heads in or checked up on them. John doubts they knew that he was there. Alex told him that his mom was almost exclusively bedridden at this point, that his dad was working double and triple shifts to cover the medical bills. John hugged Alex to him, because what do you say? Alex didn't cry, but he put his face into John's chest and breathed raggedly for a few long moments. John held him, his heart breaking.

Alex stirs, stiffening his legs against John's and turning into his chest. John wants to wrap his arms around Alex, hold him close. He does. Alex seems smaller when he sleeps, like a few inches of him come directly from his thoughts and his voice and his words. He's different, finally peaceful. He's no longer sharp edges and flashing eyes- he's soft.

John feels absolutely, perfectly safe here in Alex's loft bed with the barely-there sun falling over his face. It's a flooding, warm feeling of belonging that makes John smile into the top of Alex's head. God, this boy. These past twelve hours.

Alex squirms again, as busy as ever in his sleep. John's heart is so full. This can't be real life, his life. Alex can't be real, with his soft little sleeping noises and rolling over and back again. John finds Alex's warm hand in the mess of blankets, gives it a squeeze. Alex, in his sleep, half- squeezes back

When John wakes up again, it's to the door being thrown open with a gunshot bang. He sits upright like a rope from his head yanked him up, marionette-style, heart pounding. There's a woman John recognizes after a moment as Alex's mother's nurse. She looks panicked, her eyes teary. Oh no. She looks at him, over at Alex next to him, for a long few seconds. Her face barely changes. John knows what it looks like, and he opens his mouth to say something, anything that might help cover for Alex. She silences him with a look, stepping into the room. 

"Alexander, wake up. We're going to the hospital." John gives Alex a quick elbow, unable to speak through his panic-thick throat. Alex sits up, rubbing his face with his hand. 

"What...?" 

"It's your mom." The woman's chin is trembling as she blinks in the way you do when you know you can't cry. John sees Alex's face the second he realizes, and it's enough to bring tears to John's eyes, sharp and biting and unwelcome. Alex makes a noise like something is trying to claw it's way up his throat, clutching at John's side. 

"We have to go, Alex." The nurse's voice is gentle. Alex gives a choking sob, shaking his head. 

"No, no, no, no, she can't, no." 

"I know, Alex, I know, but we need to go." The urgency in her voice pushes John into action, and he pulls Alex's hands away from where they've covered his face. 

"Alex, baby." He doesn't care that the nurse is watching, doesn't care about anything in this world but Alexander. John pulls Alex in to hug him, trying desperately to pull Alex together with his arms. Alex is saying no, repeating it over and over like an incantation. The woman is standing, helpless, and John's eyes are welling. But he isn't about to cry, not here, not now. Alex is sobbing now, gasping in air like he's drowning in it. 

"Alex, please." The nurse's voice breaks, and she covers her mouth to stifle a cry. Fuck. Something has to happen now. John takes Alex's hands and practically drags him off the bed, guiding him down the ladder. It's graceless, but Alex is on solid ground. He's practically doubled, face in his hands. John is rubbing his back, painfully aware of how unable he is to do anything at all for this boy. The woman is rifling through his drawers, putting a bag together frenetically. She tosses a jacket at John and he wrestles it onto Alex, who's unresponsive and blank, his mouth open in a perpetual sob. John feels like he's floated out of his head, like he's doing what he has to on autopilot. His fingers are numb, cold. Alex. Alex. Alex. 

John hates hospitals. He supposes everybody does, to some extent, but they give him a crawling, sick feeling all over. He's in the waiting room with Alex, curled on an uncomfortable couch with Alex's head in his lap. It was never a question that John was coming- Alex had clutched at his hand as the ambulance screeched up to his building and didn't let go. Still hasn't. They followed the ambulance that carried Alex's parents in a break-neck taxi, Alex white and shaking in the seat between John and his mother's nurse (Martha- John only learned her name as she tearily shouted at the man behind the registration counter). Alex hasn't spoken a word since they got here- the last thing he said was in the taxi, as they pulled up in front of the Lower Manhattan Hospital. 

"Is my mother dying?" He'd choked. John turned to look out the window, praying to everything he could think of that the tears in his eyes wouldn't come flooding down his face. Martha had shook her head, wordlessly, rummaging through her bag for her wallet. 

Now Alex is laying on the paisley printed love seat, looking like a ghost. John is running his hands through Alex's hair, the only thing he can think of to do. Alex's dad is in his mom's room. He hasn't spoken a word to John, and barely anything to Alex. The tension between them is palpable, but unplaceable- Alex doesn't talk about his dad. John doesn't know how to do this. There's nothing, not a single phrase or word or quote that John can say right now to help Alex. And that's tearing at him, roiling all acidic in his stomach. 

John can't save him. 

John learns, in snippets and whispers from Martha as Alex sleeps fitfully, that Mrs. Hamilton has stage four lung cancer. The kind that you don't come back from. She was coughing up blood early this morning, and there's almost certainly nothing the doctors can do. John feels sick. Alex is asleep with his head on John's lap, and his mom is dying, and there's not a single thing that John can do for his brilliant, beautiful boy. 

"Are you two dating?" Martha whispers it, tearing at a balled-up tissue in her hands. John nods, too worn out to consider if he should be telling her this. But Martha seems kind, and sweet, and she obviously cares about Alex's family more than anything. She cracks a smile at John. 

"How long?" 

"Two months, about." John rubs at his face with a clammy palm. Saying it aloud makes that span of time feel almost inconsequential. "But we've been really close for ages." 

"Alex talked about you." Martha's voice is soothing. "You were his first friend here, when they moved." John is tearing up. "You mean a lot to him, I know. Thank you... for being here." 

"Of course, I...of course." Alex stirs a little, and John's heart squeezes. He doesn't want Alex to wake up. He wants him to be oblivious to all this awful pain for as long as possible. "I don't feel... enough to be here. Like, I can't do enough." Martha sighs. 

"Believe me, I understand that feeling. I don't know how much Alexander's told you but... his mom has really been going downhill over the past few months." Martha swallows, looking down at her lap. "It's hard, it's awful not being able to do anything." John nods, not trusting himself to speak. 

"So just...be here?" Martha shakes her head yes. 

"All we can do."

Alex visits his mom when he wakes up- intensive care is family only, and John can't help but feel a twisted sense of relief at that. He don't know what he'd do if Alex wouldn't let go of him. There's no way it would be right for him to stand there, in that claustrophobic, shuttered room filled with beeping machines that John barely got a glimpse at as Alex trudged through the door. (It made John's stomach ache, watching Alex go. God, why couldn't he protect him? Why couldn't he just hold him forever?) Alex's dad is gone already, a factory job that couldn't wait for him. Martha stands from her chair after Alex disappears inside the room and takes his place next to John. He can tell she hates not being able to go in. Her hands are working at the hem of her shirt, eyes watering. She's silent, so the only noise in the empty waiting room are John's sniffles that he isn't even trying to keep quiet anymore. He has one missed text from his mom, reminding him to be home from his sleepover in time for a haircut he has scheduled. God, a fucking haircut. It's almost hilarious in its ridiculousness, the fact that there are still people in the world that care about what time a haircut is. That the clocks and cars and businesses won't stop when Alex's world does. It's fucking ridiculous. 

"John?" Martha is looking at him like he's meant to be responding to something.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, do you want a coffee? I'm going to the cart." 

"Oh." John feels a spike of outrage, on Alex's behalf. The world will keep turning if his mom dies, people will keep drinking coffee, and it's not fucking fair. "Um, sure." As outrageous as it is, John's eyes are heavy- he's running on two hours of sleep, emotionally drained, and the slightest bit hungover. All in all, he feels like he's been backed over a half-dozen times by an eighteen wheeler. He could use a coffee. Martha leaves, disappearing around a white-walled corner, and John is by himself. 

If he tries to think too hard about all of it, about the party and the fistfight and the Dairy Queen bathroom and the taxi and the kissing and the sleeping and the waking up and the crying and the hospital and the awfulness, he's going to lie down on the floor and cry until he drowns. So he doesn't. He doesn't think. He ties and reties his shoelaces, which must have been undone this whole time (he certainly didn't have the time to knot them as the ambulance sped away screaming). He paces, a little, but mostly because that seems like a thing to do in hospital waiting rooms. That's what they're for, waiting for news. But what if you know the news is bad? How do you wait for news you know is bad? He worries about Alex, tries not to, to no avail, worries some more. Shouldn't he be back by now? Is he crying, is his mom awake, can she talk to him? John just wants to hold him. Hold him and protect him in the eye of the hurricane. 

Martha brings him a coffee, and it's not the way he likes it. Not that she should've known how he likes it, but Alex would have. Alex knows everything. And something about that, about the stupid muddy black coffee, makes John have to sit down with his head in his hands and try his very best not to cry. And Alex still isn't back. 

It's worse when he does come back, though. Because he's crying, and he looks so much like someone came along and stripped all the things that added up to Alex away, leaving a shell. John stands up, walks to him. Alex takes this sobbed gasp that cleaves John's heart into separate halves as he wraps his arms around Alex. Alex clings to him like a life raft. It takes several long moments before he can fill them in. 

"The doctors say they can't do surgery." His eyes are hollowed, and it's more than the lack of sleep. Martha nods, tearing up like she knew but didn't want to believe it. 

"And that her body is too weak for chemo." Alex's voice is flat, scary. "So they can't do anything! They take every penny my parents ever made and the worthless bastards can't do anything!" He's yelling, his face streaming with tears, and John is crying too. He doesn't mean to be crying too. 

"There's nothing there's nothing, there's-" He cuts off and sinks to the floor like his knees have gone to jelly. He's covering his face, sobbing so loudly that it's ringing in John's ears. It's horrible, it's horrible. John can't breathe. He doesn't register the movements of getting to the floor until he's there, pulling Alex towards him. Alex is shaking, his sobs sounding inhuman as he clutches John. 

"Alex, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby." There's nothing to say or do or pray or hope. There's only this sobbing boy crumpled on cold linoleum with his face buried in John's chest, his world being ripped apart by something unfixable.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take this short little chapter cause I wanted to post more than once this week!!
> 
> Also, this fic is well over 20,000 words, making it the longest thing I've maybe ever written and stuck with! Thanks to everyone for your reads, kudos, and comments!
> 
> (And another thing, my previous chapter's warning still applies: talk of cancer and death resulting from it)

EARLY MAY, 2016

John hasn't been sleeping. How could he? He hasn't been sleeping, or eating, or showering. Or going to school, most days. He's quick enough that being there for a couple days a week and getting the work from classmates has been enough to keep him afloat. He's said a thousand silent prayers to something, thanking the sky that his parents are busy and unobservant enough to wave him off with a nod as he leaves the house in the morning for the hospital, not the school. Alex has been practically living there, with Martha. His deadbeat dad is in and out, smelling like car grease and liquor more often that not. John hasn't seen him try to comfort Alex once. It makes John's heart squeeze with worry- what's going to happen to Alex if his mom... when. The doctors have made it clear that she has a month at most. But John can't say that, can't believe it. 

Alex is so thin. It's awful, the way the skin of his face seems to almost hang off his cheekbones. John and Martha are like a tag team, constantly trying to get food, water, rest into Alex. He's so quiet. It's such a stark difference from the Alex he was that John almost hates to be around him. Not like that but... it's hard. It's painful. Not being able to do anything for him, that's the worst part. The complete, total helplessness. 

"Alex, love," They're on their couch, the paisley one from the first day. Alex has his eyes closed, silent, drawn into himself. He opens his eyes at John, bright brown and glossy. All three of them are doing more silent crying than not these days. "Let's go to the cafe?" Not that the hospital food is any good, but the bones of Alex's back that John can feel in his shoulder are frightening. He must look desperate, because Alex nods, finding John's hand. 

"Okay." Alex nods. It's a Tuesday, a cloudy, dark Tuesday. John should be in AP World History right now. He can't seem to care that he's not. He's been calling in early in the mornings, speaking to the secretary as his dad. Medical leave. That part is true. Alex gets up, slow, slow. Like his back hurts. He looks exhausted, weak. John puts a hand on his back. 

"Okay?" He knows it's the dumbest question he could ask. Of course he isn't. But Alex gives a tight lipped smile, a nod. They walk up a flight of stares to the cafe. It's well lit, scattered with little tables. Alex gets a coffee (John grabs the handful of creamers for him) and a scone with blackberries. John goes for hot chocolate and oatmeal, craving something hot, satisfying. Alex wrinkles his nose, almost smiling. 

"Really, Laurens? Oatmeal? You live on the edge." His voice sounds lighter than it has in a long time, and it's a flood of relief pouring over John. He gets Alex in a headlock, kissing his cheek. 

"At least I haven't accidentally put decaf coffee in my cup." He sees Alex's mouth drop in disappointed shock, and thinks for a minute that he's gone too far. But then Alex is grinning, dumping the full paper cup into the trash. 

"Now you're just blatantly thieving from this esteemed establishment!" John giggles, so, so ecstatic to see Alex smile. 

"I heard you like bad boys." He deadpans, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously as he fills his cup with the good old fully-caffeinated stuff. If the woman behind the counter notices, she doesn't care. 

"Mmm, you are pressing all my buttons." John says breathily, giving Alex a peck. He seems like Alex again, his Alex. John keeps him there in the cafe as long as he can, away from the sad, sickly ICU floor, away from everything. Just them with their drinks between them and the oatmeal congealing in its bowl. Just Alex, his forehead smoothed or the first time in this whole tumultuous week, holding John's hand on the tabletop. 

"Johnny?" Alex's sounds soft, gentle. John smiles at the affection in his voice, at the nickname. 

"Yes, babe?" 

"I just need to tell you thank you." Alex casts his eyes down at the table, squeezing John's hand. 

"Oh, Alex, of course. Of course." John feels his eyes going just a little wet. "I couldn't be anywhere else." Alex looks teary, beautiful.

"I know it's... hard, and I know it's not fair to rely on you so heavily, but John," his voice breaks, "you're all I have, really." John feels the tears on his cheeks now. 

"I'm here, I'm here. I'm staying." Alex's shoulders go limp with relief, exhaustion, emotion. John reaches across the table, wipes his boy's eyes. His Alexander. 

"I'm staying."

 

Alex sleeps on John in the waiting room, soft and smelling like coffee and hand sanitizer. Martha is on her laptop, writing emails, clicking hard on the keys. 

"Shit." Its quiet, but profound. It's funny to hear her swear, like hearing a teacher would be. 

"What is it?" John whispers, careful not to wake Alex. Martha drags a hand across her face, sighing. 

"Can you keep a secret?" John nods, curious. He's gotten good at keeping secrets- his boyfriend, his boyfriend's dying mom. 

"Uh huh." Martha closes her laptop, looking worried. 

"It's his dad." John feels his heart drop. This can't be good. "He's up and gone. Just... gone."

"Fuck..." John murmurs. "How?" John can't fathom it. Cannot begin to imagine what could bring somebody to leave behind their terminally ill wife and their child. How could he leave Alex alone? John is getting mad, his eyes burning behind the sockets. "I can't..."

"I know." Martha sighs. "I'm emailing with a social worker." 

"God, I... what's going to happen to him?" John looks down at the boy in his lap. Runs a hand over his hair. He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve anything but love and goodness and endless gallons of coffee. 

"We're getting in contact with an aunt." John feels a cold spike of terror. 

"Will he...move?" Shit. No. Shit. 

"She's in Manhattan, which is why we're trying for her... his life will be uprooted enough as it is." John's sick with relief, remembering Alex telling him they moved here because there was family. 

"Okay, thank god, okay." Martha reaches over to John's knee. 

"You really care about him, huh?" Her voice is soft. 

"Yeah," John tears a hand through his knot of curls, "god, I really do." John is crying, just a bit. 

"Oh, my dear." She says, rubbing his back. John buries his face in his palms. 

"It's not fair." John knows he sounds like a child. 

"I know, I know." Her shoulders are shaky. "He's so... grateful that you're here. I'm grateful." 

"I just... he's so good, he's so sweet, he can't-" John is trembling.

"It's not fair. It's not, it's not." 

John weeps himself to sleep, clinging to his boy.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one week?? Also, buckle in for the sads.
> 
> (Warning: cancer and minor character death)

MID-MAY, 2016

She dies two weeks after Alex's dad up and left, two weeks to that Tuesday. It's quiet, no sirens or doctors rushing or Grey's Anatomy-esque calls of "she's coding". She dies in her sleep. She dies holding Alex's hand. 

Alex is the one who has to let go. 

The doctors come to the waiting room, tell John and Martha that it'll be soon, that they should be with Alex. It's the first time that John has seen Mrs. Hamilton here- it never felt right, before, still doesn't. But, god, John isn't letting Alex do this alone. She looks so much like Alex, even laying there with tubes and wires clouding her like halos, that it makes John's breath catch in a sob. John puts a hand on Alex's shoulder. He's looking down at his mom, lips trembling. She's asleep, her heart slowing. A signed Do Not Resuscitate form in Alex's hand. Painkillers coursing through a tube into the pale skin of her arm. Martha's quiet sobs as the doctor pulls the door shut for them, trapping them in a sterile, white bubble. Alex is silent, his face inexplicably dry. Like he's resigned himself. Like he doesn't want to be crying in her last moments. 

"Mommy." His voice is so quiet that John barely catches it. It's heartbreaking, splintering through John's chest like shrapnel. 

"Alex?" John doesn't know what he'll say, what he could possibly say. 

There's beeping, suddenly, and a red light, and that's when Alex cries, a hopeless, childish sob. The way a baby wails like it won't ever stop. A doctor comes in, silencing the machines, the beeps. John wants to yell, to shake her. Do something. Please. Martha buries her face in John's shoulder, pulling the three of them together into a tight huddle. 

"Mom, mommy." Alex whispers. "Wake up, mommy." Oh god. Oh god. Alex, his Alex. John is crying, chest heaving as he watches his boy squeeze his mother's hand, trying to wake her with his words. Standing there, helpless, absolutely helpless. Martha sobs, a grating, choking noise that rings in John's ears the way a firework does, a gunshot.

John sees the moment when the doctor shakes her head at the nurse. When it's over. And Alex is still tugging on his mother's hand, still leaning over her, their foreheads pressed together. John swallows a sob, feeling it burn out in his chest as he wills his hands to still, to stop shaking.

"Mommy?" Alex pulls back, awful realization in his face. He passes a hand over his mother's face, grabbing for breath that isn't there. "She's not breathing, I don't- I can't feel her breath anymore, she-" His face his full of panic, voice unraveling. 

"Do something!" He yells at the doctor, his eyes streaming. "Do something!" John can't get air into his lungs. (He remembers learning about how Jesus died, crucified on the cross. How it wasn't the nails in his hands and feet, but the inability to get a full breath in while suspended that killed him, suffocated him. John feels that way now, like there's nothing to push off of to fill his chest.) The doctor steps forward, taking Alex by the shoulders, trying to pull him back.

"I'm sorry, Alexander. She's gone." The doctor's voice is so cold, so clinical, so entirely wrong for addressing this boy, this orphaned boy. And John feels the red rage pulsing behind his eyes. 

"Stop, stop it, get off him!" John feels out of his body, the same way he felt before punching Hercules. But he's not going to punch anyone today. "Please, just leave him be, please." His voice breaks, pitching into a cadence barely above a whisper. The doctor backs up, takes his hands off Alex. John steps forward, just a little. 

"Alex? Baby?" Alex is hunched over, tears flooding his face. Looking at him makes John feel sick to his stomach. He hears the nurse call time of death, but doesn't register the numbers. Alex straightens, turns back to John. He's sobbing, open-mouthed, hand that isn't holding his mother's cold one fluttering about him like he's trying to grab some kind of reasoning from the sky. 

"I'm so- sorry." John's voice is scary, even to him. It's wrong, it's all wrong, because there's nothing to say. Why can't John come up with a single fucking thing to say? 

"I- I don't-" Alex isn't speaking so much as choking the words out. He switches into Spanish, murmuring it so quiet and fast that John can't pick it up. A prayer? A curse? Alex puts a hand on his face, practically screams into it. 

"No. No. No. No." Alex is rocking now, saying the word like it's an incantation, like it'll change this. John sees his knees give out before he falls, and he's there. Without calculating the movements, there, gripping at Alexander on the pristine white floor. Alex's hand slips from his mother's as he drops, and he stares at it like it might hold a key. 

"She's gone." He says, voice like sandpaper and glass. John nods, barely aware of the fact that he's crying, torrential. 

"How can she be gone?" Alex gasps it, buries his head in John's chest, his tears soaking through the fabric of John's t-shirt in ink blot formations. 

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know..." John is whispering it into Alex's hair, desperately trying to hold his baby together with his arms. 

It's like attempting to calm a sandstorm. John watches Alexander blow through his fingers, powerless to stop it. 

 

It's worse when Alex stops crying. When he's stiff and expressionless and silent. Martha tells him about his dad, talking in the way you might talk to a very young child. Alex takes a breath and then he's laughing, he's stooped over cackling, and it's horrifying. Is this the denial stage of grief? 

"Of fucking course." He gasps, wiping at his eyes. "The bastard." And that's all he says about it. Doesn't ask a single question- not where he'll go, what's going to happen. Neither John or Martha push him. They sit in choking silence for what feels like eons, in their bubble of the waiting room. John thinks he knows that when they leave it'll be worse. It'll be real, outside the walls of this hospital that's cut out of reality. 

"Alexander?" Martha's voice is shaking and thin, like it's been cut with water, the way John's parents gave him orange juice as a kid. Alex looks at her, his face back to its frozen state as fast as it broke into laughter. 

"Yes, Martha?" His voice is calm, innocuous. Scary. 

"We should get going. It's getting late." John starts when he realizes how long they've been sitting there. It's nearly the time his mom expects him to be home from school. Not that they won't fall for a quick text saying he's staying late to study with friends. It's the first time in his life that John has been grateful for his parent's bare-minimum involvement with him. Alex shakes his head, once. 

"I think I'll stay." He sounds like a toddler negotiating bedtime. Scoots closer to John, the only crack that tells John how scared he is. 

"Alex, we've got to get you home. Sleep in a real bed..." Martha sounds desperate.

"No, no, I'm not going back there." Alex's voice is rising, panicky. John thinks he understands, remembering how much he hated to stay at his grandparent's house in South Carolina after his grandma died. The imprinted memory of the person who's supposed to be there lingering too heavily.

"I don't know where else to go." Martha says, eyes wet. 

"I wanna go to John's." Martha looks at John, the panic he feels mirrored in her eyes. Of course John wants Alex with him. But he doesn't think that even his parents would brush off a clearly grief-stricken boy in their son's bed on a school night. But Alex's lip is trembling and there's no way in hell John is leaving him alone tonight. "I want my mommy." His voice is so soft, so broken. He sounds miles away and years younger, wrapping his own arms around himself. John hears his heart shatter, glass crunching in his ears. 

"Of course. Of course you can stay." John can figure out his parents later. Right now, all that matters is Alexander. 

Alexander, who is beautiful. Alexander, who has never lost a debate or forgotten to call John goodnight or hurt a soul. Alexander, with his superhero sheets and those eyes that hold so much flooding, flashing kindness and his unmatched wit. Alexander. 

How could this be happening? How could this be fair?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all! Go refer back to my first chapter- I changed the time it happened to fit with the current timeline.

MID-MAY, 2016

"His mom died?" It takes John dropping that bomb to make Henry Laurens look up from his laptop. His tone doesn't change. He sounds like he's asking a waiter about the specials.

"Yes." John tries to keep the tears out of his voice. He's endured a few too many "man up" and "boys don't cry" rants from his father to let any crack of emotion color his words now. "So, can he stay?"

"Which friend is this, again?" John feels his threat thicken with anger. He wants to scream, to hit something. How fucking obvious can he be about how little he cares about John's life, about what his son is saying?

"Alex. Alexander Hamilton, dad." There isn't a spark of recognition on his dad's face. John can feel himself burrowing into a corner of his being, shrinking. His father always has this effect on John- turns him into a smaller version of who he is. 

"Ah..." Henry sighs, running a hand over his head. "Well, I suppose he can stay... there's really no one else?" Something hard and cold falls in place inside John. When he speaks, it's so sharp that it's shocking even to him. 

"No, dad, there's not. I'm it." 

 

Alex is curled on the bed when John returns, knees to his chest. He's wearing some of John's things now, slightly too big on him- practically living at the hospital didn't do much in the way of clean clothes. John is taller than him and the already-oversized t-shirt swamps Alex in fabric. He looks so small, so young. John crawls over the rumpled bedsheets to sit next to Alex, leaning against the green wall under the window. (John insisted on painting his room a bright kelly green upon moving in at age six, modeled after his favorite sea turtle stuffed animal.) Late-afternoon sun is filtering through the blinds, giving John's room a filmy glow that doesn't help diffuse the dreamlike insanity of the day. The nightmare, really. 

"Do you need anything?" John murmurs, finding Alex's hand. He knows he can't give Alex the things he really needs right now- his mom, his family, any shred of stability, but... there must be something held in asking. Alex shakes his head, mute. 

"C'mon, Alex, you should have something to eat. Some water at least." John stretches across the bed to his nightstand, where his water bottle sits. Offers it to Alex, who takes it absentmindedly, holding it up to his mouth without sipping. 

Martha walked them up, held Alexander tight in a hug for a moment. Pulled John aside to plead him, eyes wet, to take good care of Alex. Told him she'd send the social worker over in the morning. John doesn't want to think about that. Can't bear to mull over how up in the air Alex's entire life is in this moment. It's terrifying. Alex clearly didn't want Martha there, the memories of his mother too thick in her teary smile as she said goodbye. 

And now Alex is on John's bed, face drawn and eyes big. He's been here a few times before, to John's loft (his parent's loft- already, John feels the sting of embarrassment that his family has money, more than Alex's does. Shit. Money, for Alex. What happens to his schooling, to everything, with his parents gone? There must be a trust fund, a bank account, a rich great uncle, something.) John realizes he's scrunching his face up, working at the sheets with a hand. Forces himself to relax, for Alex. 

"John?" His voice melts John, the same small, shy one he used to introduce himself on that first day. Eight months ago. And here they are. 

"Yes, baby?" John doesn't know when they slipped into these pet names, soft and warm and comfortable on his tongue. Baby, love, angel. All synonymous with Alex. 

"What's going to happen to me?" That's when John realizes that no one has told Alex anything, guilt pressing heavily on his sternum. It's John's job now, one he isn't used to. One he can tell he'll need to figure out fast. 

"Well, love." John doesn't know where to start, what part of this web he needs to untangle with his words first. "Martha is... talking to a social worker." Alex balks at this, shaking his head. 

"No, I'm not...leaving, no." His voice is rising, panicky. 

"You have an aunt here, yeah?" John's rubbing small circles on Alex's knee, tracing the bone under the smooth, honey skin. Alex nods, sniffing. "I think they're trying to get in touch with her."

"I can't leave." John's heart feels like a glass bottle that's shattered on the sidewalk and trod over until it's ground into a powder. He squeezes Alex's knee, grounding himself with the solidness of this boy sitting here. 

"I won't let you."

 

The worst part is the silence. The way that John can practically see the glow that Alex puts off dimming before his eyes, like one of the puzzle pieces that made him Alexander got torn away at the edges. 

The worst part is the helplessness. The not knowing, not having the capacity to know what to do. How John can't say a single sentence that might calm the rough sea of Alex's eyes. John racks his brain, tries to remember what helped him when his grandmother died. (He spent every summer as a child with her, back in Charleston. She was warm and effervescent, the sort of grandma who would let John stay up late and fix him midnight snacks and generally made it seem highly improbable that John's father was really her son. She was John's favorite person in the world. And when his mom told him, late one night in November when he was nine years old, that she had died, it felt like the world had dropped off its axis. Like she was the only thing that had been tethering it there.) His mom read to him. The last time John can remember her doing that. 

"Alex? Want me to read you a book?" If anything, maybe it'll knock him out. Let him sleep away the pain for a night at least. The sun is setting through the window, time going by in a disorderly mess of dragging seconds and leaping, bounding hours. Maybe, if John's grandmother kept the earth spinning, Alex's mom controlled the passing of time. Maybe every time someone dies it fucks up the world just a little bit more. 

Alex nods, softening just a bit into John, who feels a tiny bit of relief flood through him at the idea of doing something, taking action. He finds a book in the mess of things on his nightstand, something he's reading for school. A Tale of Two Cities, perfect for putting Alex to sleep in record time. Alex cracks a small smile at the selection.

"Let me guess, you've finished it already?" John can't keep the smile out of his voice, which feels vastly inappropriate for the situation. But Alex looks more relaxed than he has all day. 

"You would be right." Alex says, toying with his fingers. "But I still want to listen to you read it." John smiles, kisses Alex's temple. Flips the book open and loses himself in the syllables on his tongue and Alex, warm beside him. 

John reads for what could be two hours, could be two years. Until Alex is relaxed into him, lashes sleeping on his cheeks and eyebrows smoothed out, breathing deep and slow and even. Until the sky has gone dark, save for the streetlights. Until someone raps on the door, one, two, three times. John scrambles out from under Alex, eases him down to the bed, and swings off it onto the ground. Sits, pretends to be reading his book. 

"Come in?" The door opens, John's mom poking her head in. She's still in her work clothes, a deep navy blue skirt and jacket, with impeccable makeup and tired eyes. People say they look alike. John doesn't see it- his mom is an expert at keeping her eyes still and cool. John's display everything that he feels. He watches her survey him, then Alex on the bed. 

"Your father told me about your friend." She says. She sounds exhausted, inside out. "His mom?" She lowers her voice, as if Alex couldn't sleep through a herd of wild buffalos gallivanting through the room. 

"Yeah. Cancer." His mom's forehead creases. 

"That's awful." 

"Yeah." What else is John supposed to say?

"So he's staying here?" 

"Yeah." Still, no other words can make their way past John's lips. 

"What about... his dad? Other family?" John feels a rush of angry indignation. Is it really putting them out to have someone else sleeping in John's room? It's not like they pay attention to their kids anyway. 

"Nope. Dirtbag dad left him, before she died." John's voice is so flat. John's mom sighs, the crease in her forehead deepening. 

"Poor kid." She sounds different now, softer. "Are you going to blow up that air mattress?" 

"Yep." John mutters with no intention of doing so. He'll be damned if he's letting Alex sleep alone tonight. 

"He's your good friend?" John almost laughs. 

"Best friend." 

"Well, you're doing a good thing." John doesn't respond. He's not doing a good thing, he's doing the only thing. He'd do anything for Alexander. He's not good, he's just- doing what he has to. Of course he is. Alex stirs on the bed. John's mom steps back, out the door. 

"Don't stay up late." She shuts the door, heels clapping on the hallway floor, growing fainter as she walks away. She clearly doesn't think that John is infatuated with the boy in his bed. John realizes with a start that he never told them that he and Peggy broke up. John sighs through his nose, torn between gratefulness and frustration at the goddamn cluelessness of his parents. It makes it easier. It's a good thing. 

John changes out of his jeans and shirt, pulling on pajama pants and an old summer camp tee. It's just after ten, and John is absolutely exhausted. Looking at Alex, asleep on top of his black and white IKEA comforter, gives John a feeling in his chest that he can't place. This boy, this boy that's more important than anything, here in John's bed. It's all John wants, and it's in this situation. This awful, awful mess of a day. Alex looks so small, curled up at the head of the bed, fists tight and knees drawn up, fetal. John pulls the comforter back, wrestling the blankets out from under Alex. He sighs and rolls over, but doesn't wake up. John's heart goes warm as he climbs up next to Alex, pulls the blankets to his neck. Flips off the light. Lays in the dark without closing his eyes until the clock ticks past midnight.  
Wakes sometime later to Alex crying. Feels another hairline crack break open in his ribs as he listens to Alex's soft, mewling whimpers. Pulls him into his chest. Whispers to him, presses kisses into his silky black hair. 

Even after all of this, he still smells like Alex. Like coffee and mint. Home.

"I don't know why I-" Alex cries, the sound so pitifully heartbreaking.

"Why what?" John holds him. 

"I don't feel- like it happened. Like I'm crying, but only because I know I should be." Alex's voice is so small, so broken. Like the unfeeling is worse than all the feeling in the world.

"Oh, Alex. I know, I know." John doesn't know what he's saying. "It's just... the denial. The denial part of grief." Alex goes still and stiff beside him, turning away sharply, suddenly.

"What, Alex- what?" John is perplexed, helpless. What did he say, do?

"Don't quote the five stages of grief at me." Alex's voice is quiet, deadly. Shit. Shit, John doesn't like that voice. That voice he's only heard once ever, just before John swung a fist at Hercules.

"I'm- I'm sorry, Alex, I shouldn't-" John is tearing up, his chest on fire. 

"You don't know." He's a viper, hissing. 

"What?" John is sitting part of the way up now, looking down at Alex where he lies, turned towards the wall. "Alex, what are you talking about? I'm just- I'm just trying to help." John can feel his lip shaking, knows that his voice is about to hitch and break. 

"You don't know, okay, John? You don't know what it's like. What it's like to be fucking orphaned! My mom died and you don't have any fucking idea what that's like!" He's yelling in a whisper, somehow, each word driving the point of a sword into John's chest, his stomach, his head. Lethal words. 

"I'm sorry, I- I'm sorry..." John's voice cracks, pitches up tearfully. His chest hurts now, his lungs unaccepting of the room's poison air. Alex is covering his face with both hands, rocking. 

"You don't know, you don't know, you don't know-" John reaches out to touch him. Alex is sad. He's panicking. He doesn't mean everything he's saying, doesn't mean any of it. 

The sharpness with which Alex twists away from his touch makes it hard for John to believe what he's telling himself, though. 

"I'm sorry." John's voice is so quiet. 

"Leave me alone." It's barely audible. "Please." 

He shoots John dead, through the chest, blows the smoke off his gun, turns away. John gets up, untangling his legs from the sheets that weigh ten thousand pounds, the tears in his eyes pouring down his cheeks with abandon. 

"Okay. Okay." Alex pulls the comforter over his face. Doesn't watch John stumble from the room. 

John lays on the couch, feeling his heartbeat in his toes, his teeth, shaking him. His parents are, blessedly, asleep, their room void of the crack of light under the door. The couch is hard, scratchy. More decorative than anything. John thinks, distantly, that maybe he should be careful of the tears already soaking through the curved arm of it. Alex told him to leave. To leave, to leave, to leave. John clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob that's rising in his throat like a wave. 

Alex is hurt. He's alone and he's miserable and he's in shock, and John knows that, but none of it erases the sting of Alex turning away from his touch. John wipes at his eyes, trying to staunch the flow of tears to no avail. His mom died. He's not being rational. He's not okay. 

And neither is John. 

He shuts his eyes and sobs, silent, the way he can remember crying as a kid, falling on the sidewalk in front of the loft and scraping his knees awfully. Blood running down his shins. That's how he feels now, the wound Alex put through his chest gushing over his hands. 

Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone, alone, alone, alone. 

"Don't leave me alone." John squeezes his eyes tighter. He must be imagining Alex's voice, saying what he wants him to say, needs him to say. John buries his eyes in the heels of his palms, a sobbing gasp escaping his lips.

Then a touch, on his shoulder. So soft he could be dreaming it up. 

"John- Laurens." A sob. Still dreaming it? "Open your eyes, John Laurens." Another touch, more pressure. "Please?" A broken cry, quiet. John opens his eyes.

Alex, there. Falling over John. Crying into his neck. 

"I'm sorry, John, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." His words garbled, clutching John's arm. "I didn't mean that, I didn't mean any of that, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Alex puts his hands on John's chest, sews up the gunshot wound with his words. 

"You told me to leave." John's voice is shaking, odd. Alex bites off a sob. 

"I shouldn't have, John, I'm so-" He's kneeling in front of the couch like he's praying. "I fucked up, I'm fucked up. I don't want you gone, I want you with me, I need you with me, I can't, I can't-" He's rambling, face streaming with saltwater. "Please. Please. I can't be alone." Something flips in John's chest, opening a door somewhere. He sits up. Pulls Alexander, shaking, sobbing Alexander, into his chest.

"You're not alone tonight."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is no where near good enough for the TEN DAYS it took me to write this. I'm going to try to get on a more regular writing schedule so bear with me. I hope you all enjoy this fluffy crap!

LATE MAY, 2016

The past two weeks have blurred together into a muddled mess, too many colors of paint splashed on the canvas. Alex spent four nights in John's bed, four days never more than a breath away from his side. A social worker came, a tall woman with heels and black hair that snaked over her shoulders. She spoke to Alex in a soft mix of English and Spanish, a combination that put him as much at ease as he could be. She tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear with a red acrylic nail, brushing his cheek with the back of her hand. Gave him stacks of paperwork to sign. John saw Alex's hands shaking as he scratched out his autograph on page after page. 

Alex's aunt came to pick him up that Saturday. John's parents were at work, didn't know Alex was leaving. Wouldn't have cared. John almost couldn't bear watching the taxi pull up, the car that would take his boy away. Alex pulled John in, holding him so tight that John's ribs protested.

"Thank you." He whispered fiercely into John's cloud of hair. "Thank you so much." John clung to Alex's back, desperate to keep him here forever. His aunt's place was only a ten minute taxi ride away, but when John's bedsheets were molded to the indentation of Alex's body, his room thick with the smell of him, anything was too far. 

"Yes," John murmured into Alex's neck. There was nothing to say. "Always. Always." And then Alex's aunt, a sweet-looking, short woman with Alex's nose and his mile-a-minute conversation was shaking John's hand and ushering Alex out of the door. 

And he was so gone. And John was so hollow. 

Today, John is waking up alone. The way his body, his brain, adjusted so fast to having someone else asleep up against him makes the emptiness of his bed all the more jarring. John gropes for his phone on his bedside table, the first order of business being Alex. Always Alex. There are three texts, each of them perfectly punctuated, bursting with Alexander, like he's saying the words in John's ear. John doesn't know how he can do that, make a simple good morning text bloom like a sonnet, an embodiment of him. That boy is going to change the world someday. He's already changed John's.

John texts him back and rolls out of bed, hair a mess of tangles to his shoulders. He needs to cut it- was supposed to that first day in the hospital, weeks ago. He's been thinking about going shorter for a while now, maybe getting an undercut, some tram lines. He thinks Alex would like it. John's chest pangs with a wave of guilt at the fact that his brain is even managing to think of things like this. It feels too early, too soon and too raw, to be imagining Alex braiding John's hair with his long, lovely fingers and kissing his undercut. He says a silent prayer to something that might not exist in the sky, for Alex's mom. For Alex himself. Promises them he hasn't forgotten, won't ever forget. 

This has changed his very makeup. It's not something he could.

Seeing Alex waiting for him on the subway platform a block from school makes John's whole being swell with affection. He feels himself giving Alex the once-over, looking him up and down, just to make sure he's alright and whole. That's become a habit, despite all the times Alex has told John not to pity him. That he's okay. John doesn't believe that, not for a moment. So he keeps looking Alex up and down, keeps holding his hand or touching his knee or his back or his hair, just to make sure he's all there. 

The second John reaches Alex, taking striding steps across the street to him, he's squeezed into a rib-crushing hug, Alex's face buried in his shoulder. John hugs him back, closing his eyes, reveling in the closeness

"Are you okay?" John whispers. Alex is still clinging to him like a little kid, arms around his waist. Dumb question. How could he be?

"Okay," he nods into John's neck, "just missed you." John goes soft. His boy. His boy. 

"I missed you, baby." John holds Alex at arm's length, looking at him. His hair is long, messy, falling in his eyes. The dark circles under those eyes look almost tattooed on, a deep, bruising purple. He's too skinny, heartbreakingly so in the face and shoulders, like his skin is just draping off the bones. He's in clothes John doesn't recognize- they must he new, from his aunt. A gray t-shirt and jeans, a dark blue hoodie that's soft in the cuffs where John is holding it. Alex's chin shows a shadow of stubble, a look he somehow pulls off. He's gorgeous- after all this, still gorgeous. 

"Are you good to be here?" John murmurs. Alex has been at school all week, came back in on Monday, holding John's hand like a life raft as they walked through the double doors. But John can't be too sure that he's alright, that it's not too much, too soon. Alex nods, his silky hair shaking in his face. John tucks it back by habit, just wanting to feel Alexander solid under his hands. 

"Did you eat this morning?" It seems like, since it happened, John can't stop asking Alex questions. Can't stop trying to make sure he's okay in the simplest ways. It's all that he can do. Alex is shuffling, looking guilty. 

"Alex," John sighs, feeling another rock coming loose from the avalanche in his chest, "c'mon, baby, you have to eat." 

"I know, I just..." He's so thin. John fumbles for his wallet, a half-assed idea taking place in the back of his head. He's got thirty dollars, mostly in fives. Alex is looking at him with his brows furrowed.

"What are you doing?" John's tucking his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans, finding Alex's hand. 

"Do you have any tests today?" Alex chews his lip, thinking.

"No... and if I did, I could always pull the poor orphaned boy card." He's caught on, the corners of his mouth twitching in a smile. The dry joke makes John's heart squeeze, bittersweet, but Alex's eyes are sparking. John hasn't seen that for so long.

"Let's go get breakfast." It's sunny, brilliantly so, and the light reflects off Alex's halo, his smile.

"Are you sure you can miss more class?" He's barely trying to argue, his dancing eyes mischievous. 

"I mean, it's quite a toss up between taking a gorgeous boy out for pancakes and taking notes on A Tale of Two Cities..." Alex giggles, pushing at John's shoulder. It feels almost perfect, almost as light and new as it did before. 

But John wouldn't go back. If he knew, back in February, what getting involved with this boy would put him through... he wouldn't change a thing. Because all it's done is made them closer, stronger. If John thinks about it too hard, it puts a choking lump in his throat. Alex lays a hand on his arm, looking up at him. 

"Are you okay?" John swallows hard, displacing the lump, smiles at Alex.

"Yes, I'm okay, just... just love you is all." As soon as it's out of his mouth, John's heart is ricocheting in his chest so hard that he feels like he might faint. Alex is looking at him, perfect mouth hanging open just a bit. John's thought it before, almost relentlessly in these past few weeks, but actually saying it, telling him. John's mouth is too dry to swallow, barely feeling the pressure of Alex's hand on his arm. 

"Sorry, I didn't, I just-" John is babbling. Why isn't Alex saying anything? God, this is worse than telling him he liked him, a thousand times more vulnerable. "Just ignore me, that was stupid- sorry." Alex is smiling now, and that's even more terrible- John can't tell in his eyes if he's laughing at him. John looks at the sky, gnawing his lip. God, god, god, god. The sky is too blue, fake-looking. Say something, Alex. Say something. 

"Love you too, Johnny." Wait. John looks back down, at Alex's face. His eyes are big and bright and John is drowning in them. 

"Wait- what? Really?" Alex's mouth is curving into a grin.

"Yeah, really. Are we gonna eat or what?" John let's out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, rakes a hand through his mess of curls. Pulls a squealing Alex into his chest.

 

They're squeezed into a booth next to a window, with white and black linoleum checkering the floor and gingham cloths covering the wooden tables. Alex orders a stack of buttermilk pancakes, three sausage links, and a mug of coffee. The waitress is clearly fawning over him, refilling his cup every five minutes and batting her eyelashes. John can't help feel a prick of jealousy, sliding his hand into Alex's over his plate of French toast and strawberries. The waitress stops checking up on them quite so much after that. 

"Are you really worried about me getting stolen out from under you?" Alex says, mouth full of pancake. His eyes are smiling.

"No, but that doesn't mean I can't show everyone you're mine." The food is delicious, warming him from the inside out, but it doesn't hold a candle to the sweetness of Alex's grin. Alex raises the hand of John that he's holding to his mouth, pecking the backside with syrupy lips. 

"I'm all sticky now!" John protests, insides melting to butter at the gesture. Alex, laughing, swipes a finger through the puddle of syrup on his plate and dabs John on the tip of the nose (he can't throw his hands up fast enough to avoid it). And it all devolves into laughter and sticky hands and a weight the size of an ocean sloughing off of John's chest, just a bit. It feels so good to laugh with Alex. Better than anything. Alex wipes at his eyes, smiling across the table at John, but his demeanor is changing as fast as it came on. He clears his throat, wipes his hands on the cloth napkin.

"Are you alright? What is it?" The air in the room is different, and John doesn't know why.

"Yes, yeah, I love this." John isn't convinced.  
"Then what's going on?"

"I love it. I love it, that's the problem. I'm enjoying myself." John understands, suddenly.

"And you feel guilty." The same way John felt looking in the mirror this morning, thinking about his hair when he should have been thinking about what happened. Only about that.

"Yeah." Alex murmurs, fingers tapping a rhythm on the tabletop. "I don't feel like I should be enjoying anything yet, not without her." John doesn't know what to say, a feeling he's all too accustomed to. He just nods, squeezes Alexander's hand.

"It's just... it's only been a few weeks. And I'm already having fun, you know, and it just feels...wrong." Alex is working at his napkin with the hand that isn't holding John's.

"It's what she'd want, you know that." Alex nods, looking unconvinced. 

"My aunt has her ashes in the living room. It's so... weird. This dumb gaudy vase on the mantle." They cremated her a bit ago, just family. John stayed on the phone with Alex for nearly four hours afterwards, counting out breaths and murmuring things that didn't make a difference. Again, there's nothing to do but nod. Let Alex talk, get it out.

"She never even got to know you, not really. She never knew about us." Alex's voice hitches, and John can see everything that she'll never get to experience playing on Alex's face. John feels his eyes welling.

"I wish I'd known her." John really does. From the few run-ins and polite conversations he had with Mrs. Hamilton, he could see just how Alex became who he is.

"Do you think it stops? Or is it only ever finding new ways to miss her?"

"Probably a little bit of both." John murmurs to his plate, both his hands in Alex's now. He doesn't think it will ever stop. Alex will never be over this. And this conversation might happen a thousand more times, and John will be there. Always there.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the middle of my last bit of school and I've been crazy busy with studying for finals and such. Forgive me for the super slow updates!!

EARLY JUNE, 2016

It's summer. John's favorite three months of the year. He doesn't mind the heat, the humidity, the stretch of boredom that begins in early July, the blurring of days until a month passes without notice, any of it. Because summer means late nights and late mornings, swimming until his skin carries the tang of chlorine even after he showers, the loft to himself for huge, wonderful stretches of time. Summer means Alex. All day, every day. Summer means a fresh start, a detox from this year, the craziest year of John's life. 

All of this is thrumming in John's chest when he wakes up, after ten, relishing in the sun streaming through his windows on the first day of vacation. The last day of school came and went without much fanfare- his last two finals, hugs from classmates, yearbooks. And then hopping on the subway with Alex, riding away from junior year. John isn't thinking about going back to school, isn't letting himself fret over being practically a senior now, not having a college chosen, leaving Manhattan. Leaving Alex. 

He's not thinking about it at all.

He rolls over in bed, the glorious laziness of the morning feeling content and perfect. He reaches for his phone, unsurprised to see texts from Alex dating as early as 8:30. 

John, 10:27 am: Do you even know how to sleep in?

Alex, 10:27 am: HE'S AWAKE!

Alex, 10:28 am: THE BEAST HAS RISEN!

Alex, 10:28 am: THREE CHEERS FOR JOHN LAURENS GETTING OUT OF BED!!!

John, 10:29 am: I'm still in bed, but nice try

Alex, 10: 30 am: GET UP! CARPE DIEM! SEIZE THE DAY!

John, 10:30 am: It's too early for this

Alex, 10:31 am: Party pooper.

John, 10:31 am: I'm kidding, you're adorable

Alex, 10:32 am: And you're lazy.

Alex, 10:32 am: Adorable too, but positively sloth-like.

John giggles out loud at this, shooting back with a selfie displaying his middle finger up. Alex responds with an impressive eye roll, tongue out. He looks so cute, hair in pigtails above either ear. John can't resist that hairstyle- pigtail Alex could ask him to burn down a mini mart and John would be searching for a lighter and a gas tank. And Alex seems... happy. Really happy. In a unadulterated way that John hasn't seen for a good month and a half. As much as he adores it, he can't help but wonder, in the back of his mind, when it'll stop. Because it's like a wave, all the emotions, rising and falling, lifting Alex up and pulling him down without warning. But maybe it's a good day, and maybe those will get more frequent. It is summer, after all. Anything seems possible.

John lays in bed for another hour, relishing the way the sun comes through the window and the promise of having absolutely nothing to do today. Alex goes to the grocery store with his aunt, practically live-streaming the entire experience to John. His aunt has been great, he says, and John is endlessly glad for her. John finally gets up to make himself breakfast, eggs and bacon and toast. He hums to himself while cracking the eggs into the pan, the air and the kitchen and the sky feeling light and joyful. He eats at the granite island, settling into a show on Netflix while his phone pings happily with Alex's text tone.

Halfway through the second episode of Grey's Anatomy (it's a season finale, so dramatic that John is barely breathing, practically clutching his chest), the doorbell buzzes. When he hears Alex's voice crackle over the intercom, his heart does a somersault in his ribs.

"Buzz me in, Laurens! I have donuts!" John just about breaks a leg rushing to get to the intercom button. He buzzes Alex up, giggling a greeting into the intercom. Within moments, he hears thunderous footsteps on the stairs, a quick rap on the door. He throws it open and is nearly bowled over by Alex flying into his arms.

"Hi, cute thing." John murmurs into Alex's head. Alex pulls back, looking at John with a flushed smile and glinting, flinty eyes. He has a white bakery bag in his hand, and there's a look on his face, simmering just under the surface. He's made of mischief. 

"What?" John says with a laugh, because Alex is staring at him with that look, and John can't help but feel like he can see all the way through him. 

"Nothing..." Alex is smirking, and it stirs something in John's belly.

"Why do I feel like you're not telling the truth?" John chides, noting with a spark of interest that Alex has sidled closer to him, his slender hand coming to a rest on John's freckled arm.

"Do you want a donut?" 

"Is that really the only reason you came over?"' John thinks he understands the game Alex is playing, and it sends sparks dancing over his skin. 

"My motives are nothing but pure!" Alex exclaims, mock-offended and gorgeous. John decides that two can play at this, and pulls away from Alex in favor of the bag he's holding. They're flirting, and, wow, it's like walking on air. It feels new, like John is just learning how to do it again. There hasn't been much of this since the hospital- not much teasing and raised brows and smirking sideways glances. But now John feels naked under Alex's stare, wholly vulnerable. And it's a good feeling.

"Where are these from?" John asks, about the donuts, in an attempt to distract himself from the way that the fabric of Alex's t-shirt flows over his chest.

"Some place my aunt likes." Alex digs one out of the bag, dripping in chocolate. John snorts, sits at the island.

"Thanks for the specifics." The mystery donuts are delicious- John selects one drowned in powdered sugar that Alex says makes him look like he's strung out on cocaine. There are a few moments of quiet donut eating while Alex's leg creeps closer and closer to John's under the counter. John hates the phrase "sexual tension" but the air feels practically electric with something close to that. It makes him shy, unable to do much more than smile at Alex and press his knee into his boyfriend's. There's worry there too, laced up in John's chest- the pity sort of worry that Alex hates. The worry that comes from having an orphaned boyfriend, the worry that's present even when that boyfriend is practically in John's lap. John tries to shake it off. Alex seems fine, he seems... good. He's up for this, after all. 

"What've you been up to?" John doesn't know how Alex makes that sentence practically drip with innuendo.

"Just watching tv." John's voice sounds funny- he isn't used to this, not anymore. It's like he's learning to walk. "I made breakfast, too. Do you want an egg?" Alex looks a little exasperated, raising his brows. They both know he's not looking for eggs right now. 

"Laurens." John's heart sounds like a rhythm tapped on a steel drum in his ears.

"Yes?" God, the second Alex turns on that voice, John's throat closes up, leaving him sounding like he hasn't had a day's education in his life. Alex doesn't seem to mind. He's turned fully towards John now, leaning back with an elbow on the counter. He's looking up at John from under hooded lids, white teeth catching pink lips. God. Alex. 

"It's been a long time since I've kissed you, yeah?" Shit, he's getting right to it. 

"I kissed you goodbye just last night." John means for it to sound teasing, wants to frustrate Alex further, but he just sounds breathless and flustered. 

"No, really kissed you. You know..." Alex leans forward, puts a hand on John's left knee. John just about faints, passes dead away. 

"Yeah..." Nothing since the day they first went to the hospital, that day John woke up in Alex's arms.

"So," John can feel Alex's breath on his cheeks.

"So." John replies, practically whispering. Alex's eyes are mesmerizing. And John isn't thinking about the dead mom or college or anything but the boy hovering inches from his face.

"Can I?" Alex's eyes are so big- John can see himself practically reflected in them. Alex, Alex. John wants him.

"Yeah..." It's barely above a whisper. And then Alex is kissing him, really, really kissing him. Kissing him for real, all body and blood and soft gasping breaths. Alex's mouth is a hundred thousand degrees, smoking where it hits John's skin, but he doesn't mind getting burned. He doesn't mind it at all. Alex tastes sugar sweet, milk chocolate. John has missed this, he wants this, he needs this. 

Alex has the prettiest hands in the world, John thinks. His fingers are slender and perfect and always-moving, trailing their way over John's chest, his neck and shoulders, down his back. Alex is moving down from John's lips, pressing kisses over John's jaw, traveling to his neck. John is gasping, unable to find embarrassment for the noises coming out of him. John feels Alex's teeth on his neck then, hot and close and primal, and he can't contain his outburst.

"Alex, fuck, Alexander- God, you, you- fuck, Alexander-" John's voice breaks on the last word, cracking from his mouth in a desperate, begging cry. Alex breaks away from John's neck, from the patch of skin that he's practically bruised with his teeth.

"Shit, you liked that." It's a statement, not a question. John nods, mouth hanging open. "You like me making it known that you're mine." God, Alex. John can't do more than nod some more, breathing hard. He can't believe that Alex simply biting at his neck has him in this state. What's he going to do when Alex touches him, marks him... other places? John can feel his cheeks flaming, sure that Alex can see what John's thinking, all over his face. 

"Want me to do that again?" Alex looks so good, his hair loosening from his pigtails, his mouth red and shining.

"Yes, fuck, please." Alex smirks, leans back into John.

He's pulled down the shoulder of John's t-shirt, baring a swath of flushed, freckled skin. And his mouth is roaming over the flesh, leaving barely-bruising marks, branding him. John is embarrassingly worked up, glad for the counter that hits at his hip. Alex breaks away suddenly, with a lewd smack of his lips on John's shoulder that sends a bolt of lightning through John's stomach.

"Let's go to your room." He's talking softly, running his hands over John's chest. John can feel himself getting even redder, practically medium-rare at this point. Alex is standing, helping John off the stool. There's no hiding the state he's in now, the state that seems to be reflected on Alex. John can feel Alex's eyes drinking him in, and for the millionth time today he feels fully exposed to this boy. Alex leads John down the hall to the bedroom, seemingly finding it through muscle memory of his stay here. John closes the door behind them, just to be safe if anyone comes home, and there's a quiet, nervous moment where they stand still, looking at each other. 

And then John is stepping forward, pressing Alex down onto his childhood bed.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lil smutty! Nothing too too explicit, but here's a warning if that's not your thing.

EARLY JUNE, 2016

Alex feels too good underneath John. With his arms around John's neck, down his back, pulling him close, close, close until there's no negative space between them. John pushes away memories of the last, sad time that Alex was in this bed. They're replacing those memories, refilling them with Alex's shy half-smirk and his traveling hands and his silken black hair coming loose from it's pigtails and fanning over the sheets. John puts his hands on Alex's face, feels the barely-there prick of stubble, the heat emanating from his skin. Time has trickled to a molasses slow crawl, everything around them quieting as Alex kisses John like there's the meaning of life under his tongue.

John doesn't believe in God, doesn't believe in miracles. But he doesn't think anything on this earth holds an explanation for Alex. The giggling noise he makes when they bump noses, his fingers that feel like heaven in John's hair, the way he puts John so at ease that the two of them could be floating off the bed and John wouldn't notice a difference. An angel under him.

John's on his knees, leaning down over Alex like he's praying. He doesn't want to crush Alex, but every piece of him wants to be closer, as near as possible to this boy. It's not enough to have the taste of him in John's mouth, the pressure of his hands on his head and back. Alex keeps sighing, little curses and murmured snippets, and the exposed skin of John's shoulder is still hot from his mouth. Alex traces the marks he left, practically reverent as he outlines them with a cool finger. He counts aloud, one on John's neck, two decorating his shoulder and collarbone. John can't help but gasp when Alex presses into them, the barely-there ache rushing through his stomach.

"You're gorgeous." Alex says, whispers. John has to fight the urge to bury his face in his hands, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. Alex notices, brushes John's hair back. He's grinning. "C'mon, it's true." 

"Nuh uh," John murmurs, wanting to kick himself for how much he sounds like a little kid.

"Uh huh." Alex argues, pressing a finger into one freckle, and another, and another, ringing the hickeys that adorn John. "Right here, gorgeous." Alex touches John's hair, tugs gently on a curl, then lets it spring back into position. "Here." A hand trailing down John's spine, making it tingle. Slipping just an inch under his shirt, so cool on John's burning skin that he lets out the smallest hiss through his teeth. "Gorgeous. Perfect." Alex's hand is going lower, squeezing John's ass. Those slender fingers pressing into the flesh that's under his shorts. Shit, if that didn't send a shudder through his whole lower body. John moans, stifles it, blushes. "There. Stunning."

"Alex..." The state John is in is nearly painful now. He can't keep the raw neediness out of his voice, can't find the strength to be embarrassed of it. Alex makes an obscene sighing sound that John echoes involuntarily, arching his spine.

"What do you need, baby boy?" The pet name makes John whine, a low, desperate noise. 

"You, I need... I need- you, shit." Alex is sucking another hickey onto John's collarbone, his mouth so warm and wet and full of need.

"Fuck, John-" John has never seen Alex like this. He's grabby, all hands and mouth, pulling John into his chest. He's tugging at John's t-shirt, inching it over John's torso.

"Can I take this off?" Alex asks him, voice thick as syrup. 

"Yes, yeah, please." It takes John an inhuman amount of force to break away from Alex long enough to let him haul the t-shirt over his head. 

"Oh..." Alex gasps. The way he's looking at John, like he's memorizing his body, worshipping it, makes every molecule inside John come to life. John has never been looked at like this, touched like this. He and Peggy never did this much... John had never felt the urge to. Maybe he should've known. 

"John, you're ripped." Alex's voice carries a giggly awe, and John's face goes an even deeper red. That's an overestimate, but John's arms and core are still relatively toned from swimming- his twice weekly gym schedule got seriously fucked up by everything that's been going on, and he hasn't been for a good month. 

"Nah, c'mon." John feels so vulnerable under Alex's stare. It's like this boy sees inside him.

"Yes, you are." Alex's tone has changed a bit, his expression drooping ever so slightly. It's worrying, and John pulls away from Alex's body, tucking a lock of his boyfriend's hair back. 

"Alex? What?" Alex has gone quiet, brows furrowed. "Talk to me, Alex." Alex has turned his head to the side, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Shit. Is this too much for him? Did John do something wrong? John gets completely off of Alex, lays down next to him. Clears the mess of silky hair from his face. 

"Baby? Baby, we can stop." John's heart is hammering, sick with worry. What did he do?

"No..." Alex murmurs, practically a whisper. He opens his eyes and John can see that they're glistening. Fuck.

"What is it, Alex?" John tries to make his voice as soothing as possible. "Do we need to slow down?" 

"No, I want... this." Alex is biting his lip, worryingly quiet.

"Then what? Love, what?" Alex sighs, opens his mouth, closes it again.

"It's embarrassing." Alex is red, brows practically meeting in the middle.

"C'mon, you can tell me anything." John murmurs.

"Just..." John doesn't recognize this on Alex, him having trouble getting something out. John's mind is racing with possibilities. Alex has four nipples. Or an STD. No, he's a virgin. Unless he's lying about that. Shit.

"Just, you're so... muscular. And I'm really- I'm not. It's dumb, I know." John wants to cry, first wth relief that that's all it is, then with sadness that Alex is so self conscious, even with him. 

"Oh... baby boy." John leans forward to kiss Alex's lips, chest squeezing. "You're so gorgeous. So gorgeous." 

"But I don't have that... washboard stomach." How does John convince Alex that he loves every single square inch of him? 

"Do you think I care about that?" 

"It's embarrassing." Alex covers his face, and John's heart breaks.

"Stop, Alexander. Look at me." Alex peeks through his fingers, eyes glossy. "Listen. Baby. You don't ever need to be embarrassed around me, okay?" Alex has taken his hands away, but he still isn't looking right at John.

"I know that, my brain knows that, just..." Alex sighs.

"It's okay. It's okay. You're perfect." Alex gnaws on his lower lip. He seems smaller, somehow, tucked away into himself. John can't bear to see him like this.

"I wish I believed that." Alex's voice is heartbreaking. 

"We don't have to do this. We don't have to do this today, or at all, I just want you to feel good, and comfortable and-" John is rambling. All he cares about is Alex, Alex being okay. He can tamp down any ugly flashes of disappointment in his stomach, any hints of longing for Alex, for the return of his mouth, his hands. He doesn't need that now. He just needs Alex to feel okay.

"It's not... you, okay? Don't feel like I'm just uncomfortable around you." Alex is so quiet, tucked into John's side."I've always had issues with the way I look." 

This is a shock to John. How can beautiful, beautiful Alexander, who looks like a god on earth, who's smile warms John like an open oven, think he wasn't good enough? 

"Wh- Alex. You're so, you're just-"

"I'm short, and I'm not muscular like you, and my nose is just- big, I don't-" Alex closes his eyes again.

"I love how short you are, Alex, okay?" John is stumbling over his words, and if there ever was a time to be eloquent, it's right now. "You're the perfect height for me to hug. And I don't give a flying fuck if you have big muscles or you don't. You're, you're perfect. And your nose is, like, the only thing I love in this world, it's just, it's perfect too, all of you is perfect and you should never be self conscious because, Jesus Christ, you're gorgeous, I mean, so, so, gorgeous, just-" John's rant is cut off my a giggling Alex pressing a finger to his lips.

"How do you even exist?" Alex is smiling now, is voice stronger. John grins, worry sloughing off his chest.

"We still don't have to. Really."

"I want to, I really- I brought stuff." This burns John's cheeks and neck, sending heat racing across his skin.

"Oh- you, you did?" Alex is biting his lip again, but thus time it's seductive, not scared. John feels this delicious sense of dirtiness, of having a boy visit him just for this.

"Yeah, I did. Just in case."

"Just in... case." And then Alex is falling against him, and this time the kisses are burning and rough and Alex is pulling off his own shirt, barely flinching away when John touches his stomach ever so lightly. It's soft and gorgeous and all John wants to do is decorate it with his teeth. Shirts off, skin together, mouths clashing. John can't breathe, can't think, lost in Alexander's mouth and body and words.

"Okay?" Alex has his hands on the waist and of John's shorts and John's brain is blinking out. 

"Okay, yes, so okay." And Alex is pulling them down to John's ankles. And he's shedding his own shorts. He swings over John's thighs, straddles him, and there are only two thin layers of fabric separating them. And Alex is digging something that crinkles out of the pocket of the discarded shorts. John whines when he sees the silver wrapper, low and full of need. 

"We don't have to use this, but... we've got it." Alex's voice carries a hint of nervousness that's reflected in John's belly. 

"What do you wanna, um, do?" Despite his nerves and inexperience, John doesn't feel too awkward with Alex on top of him. Something about his presence exudes comfort.

"How about..." Alex slides off John's lap. "This?" 

He's getting to his knees on John's carpeted floor. He looks so pretty kneeling between John's legs, staring up at him from under hooded, lids, seduction dripping off his very being. John can't breathe. He thinks he says "oh my god", or maybe "shit", but the roaring in his ears stamps out everything.

"Good?" John can't nod fast enough, practically giving himself whiplash in frenzied agreement. Alex is smirking, snapping a hair tie off his wrist. John has never been so turned on by watching someone put their hair up. Is this happening? How long can a person subsist without oxygen? Is this really happening? John is sitting half-up, leaning back on his elbows in the bedsheets. He thinks his heart is going to pound straight out of his chest at any moment now.

Alex's fingers are gracing the waistband of John's boxer briefs. They aren't particularly nice ones, not the pair he would've chosen if he'd known what the day would bring, but they're relatively tight and black and Alex seems to like them. If the way his breathing changes is any indication. 

"Can I?" Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

"Yes..." Shit.

And then there's fabric bunched around John's ankles, and his cheeks are flaming hotter than the core of the sun, and Alex is sucking in a sharp, gasping breath. And he's saying something, but John doesn't register it. A curse word, something. And then his mouth is on John's inner thigh, somewhere he's never been touched. It feels so good. Supernaturally good. Alex's teeth on his sensitive skin. John's head is thrown back, his vocabulary reduced to four letter words. Oh, god. John's going to be marked up like a spelling test, branded by this boy. 

And then Alex's lips are moving higher. And John can't even say curse words anymore, every neuron in his brain flickering off as Alex... does things, does things with that mouth. John almost cries as Alex does something with his tongue that John is too far gone to imagine the logistics of. Oh, god. God. John can feel his eyes welling, so overwhelmed by how fucking good Alex feels between his legs. He sinks back into the bed, covering his face. Embarrassed by how he must look. Uncovers it because he wants to see how his boy looks, getting high off of the curves of Alex's hollowed cheeks. John can feel the ball of heat building in his core, the same heat that washes over him when he imagines things like this in the shower. That same heat times ten thousand. John has never felt this way before, and he knows he's getting close, close, close. 

"Fuck, Alex..." The brokenness of John's voice surprises him. He's so far gone. He feels Alex sigh and can't silence the obscene string of noises he makes. He's not going to last.

"Alex, I... 'm gonna-" John's legs are shaking, trembling like there's an earthquake crashing through Manhattan. Alex has a hand on his hip, his nails just barely digging into John's skin. The pressure makes John gasp. Alex is so warm, so perfect, so fucking pretty, his head bobbing.

"Alex!" It comes out a shattered cry as John shudders, full-body, his hips jerking. "I-I-I..." John stutters, toes curling as his whole being is wracked with flooding, electric heat. His eyes are squeezed shut, stars flashing under the lids. 

It lasts forever. It's over so fast. The shudders subside. John's cheeks are damp. Alex gulps and John almost faints dead away. Then Alex is wiping his mouth and John's thighs with his t-shirt, and climbing up onto the bed. John can't speak, just melts into Alex and tries to fill his lungs.

When he's recovered enough to sit up, John gives Alex a messy, desperate handjob, kissing him roughly until he's swearing and sighing. When it's over, they lie together in the tangle of blankets in John's green bedroom. They're quiet, the whole world is quiet. 

After a while, Alex falls asleep. John just looks at him, gorgeous and naked in his bed, warm skin contrasting perfectly with the white sheets. He's so in love with this boy. 

John gets a washcloth from the bathroom, cleans up sleeping Alex, himself. He puts his hair up, smoothing out the mess of curls resulting from the afternoon. Looking in the mirror, John feels different. Changed. He almost rolls his eyes at the corny shit going through his head, but it's true. He has changed. He's not the same person he was when he met Alex in October. Not the same person at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i live for comments gimme feedback


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this between my final exams! Almost done! This chapter is short but I hope you all enjoy!

MID JUNE, 2016

The summer sun has melted the days and weeks into a blur that smells like chlorine and dripping cherry popsicles and hot asphalt and the soft skin between Alex's earlobe and neck. John has done nothing and everything in the endless days. He sleeps from three to eleven or later most mornings, filling his late nights with texts from Alex and a beat-up sketchbook that he dug from the back of his closet in a fit of wanting to create. He's been doodling Alex, mostly. Alex smiling, Alex writing, Alex dozing on John's couch. A full page that John is working on watercoloring, a sketch he did of Alex laying in the grass of their park (the place Alex took John forever ago, the place with the J and the L carved into a concrete wall) with his dog. Alex loves that dog, Philip. He's fully grown now, excitable and wonderfully cuddly, and John and Alex walk him together most days. That's been John's summer, Alex and his dog, art and walks in the sweltering city and ice cream from the corner store, summer reading during Alex's twice-weekly therapy appointments, waiting for him to come home. They visit his mom's gravestone. Alex brings flowers and talks to her, tells her stories about his life, about Philip, about John. Alex's recovery goes on in a three steps forward, one step back limp. Most days he seems okay, most days he can talk to her gravestone like she's right there with him. Some days, John is up with him into the dawn, heart breaking as Alex cries on FaceTime. Some days, it feels so fresh, so much like it happened yesterday. And now Alex goes to therapy. 

One day when Alex is gone, John sees Lafayette and Hercules in the corner store, while he's picking up milk and bread. He hasn't spoken to Hercules since punching him. He's barely talked to Lafayette since Alex's mom was put in the hospital, just a result of having so much going on. His chest pangs when he sees them. It's been so long, and these two were once his best friends. John thinks he might be able to get out without having to endure a horribly awkward bout of small talk with them, but his name is called as he slinks into an aisle.

"John?" It's Lafayette, his hair up in a mess of ringlets, smiling timidly.

"Hi, Laf!" John sounds fake-happy, even to himself. Not that he isn't happy to see them, it's just... been so long. And John is so different. And he's not sure he'll ever be able to have these two back. Hercules is just looking at him, face unreadable.

"How are you?" Lafayette looks about as uncomfortable as John feels, not quite making eye contact with him.

"I'm good, um, yeah, it's good." John wants to hit himself. It shouldn't be this hard to talk to his (ex?) best friends. "Just... summer, it's good." Why can't he stop rambling? "How about you? You, uh, guys." He mutters, stupidly, in an attempt to include Hercules (who'd rather be inspecting the best by dates of the packaged donut display than talk to John) in the conversation. 

"We're fine, just grabbing some stuff for a thing we're throwing tonight." Lafayette says the last part nervously, like he doesn't want to have to invite John to the so-called thing. 

"Oh, that's cool. Like a party?" John hates himself for sounding too enthusiastic. Part of him really does want to go to their party. Like the old days, just a handful of people and those oversized bags of Doritos. 

"Yeah, kinda... just a small thing." Hercules still has yet to speak, but his eyes are on John instead of the donuts now. John shuffles his feet, looks at the ground. 

"Have fun at that, I gotta, uh..." John gestures in a way that he knows is meaningless but that he hopes gets the message across. The message that he isn't trying to impose on their party, that he's giving them an out. 

"Hey, why don't you come?" It's Hercules who says this, and it nearly makes John jump out of his skin. He fights the urge to look behind him to make sure there isn't someone else Herc is addressing.

"Oh, uh, are you sure?" The invitation from a guy who he punched in the face not so long ago has John so shocked that his voice has pitched high. Hercules cracks an almost undetectable smile at John's new chipmunk voice, and then he's clapping John's shoulder with a huge hand. 

"Yeah, we're sure," And that's all it takes, that's the peace offering. The kind of mending of a fight that only happens with your best friends. And it relieves John so much that his knees almost give out. He didn't realize how much he'd missed them.

"Yes, yeah, I'll be there. At your place?" John addresses Lafayette, assuming that the party house will be what's always been the party house. He's trying to keep the joy thats bubbling in his stomach tamped down. God, he missed them. Lafayette nods, smiling.

"It starts at ten." He says in his French accent that John didn't know he missed, clapping John's other shoulder. 

"I'll be there." John can't stop grinning. These are his best friends. 

"Hey, John?" Hercules says. "You should bring Alex." John has to blink so he doesn't tear up, his chest warm. This is the acceptance, and it feels more amazing than John thought possible.

"I will, Herc." The awkwardness is dissolving quickly, and John makes a quick promise to himself that he'll never go this long without talking to them again. 

"Hey, we heard, um, about his mom. That's awful." Lafayette says, voice soft.

"Yeah. It is awful." John needs to talk about it with someone. He would've talked about it with them. 

"And you were out of school for a long time."

"Yeah."

"I texted you a few times..." Lafayette is the one shuffling his feet now. John feels a rush of guilt, mentally beating himself for blocking them out.

"Shit, yeah, I know... I'm sorry, just... a lot going on. Being there for Alex..." He treated them badly. Really badly. 

"I know, I get it. It's okay." And looking at Lafayette, it does seem okay. "And I'm sorry I didn't try harder to reach out."

"Don't apologize, c'mon. I should've been better at keeping in touch." This is how it always used to be for them, making up after dumb arguments and spats over girls or some shit. Now boys. John wants them to be like that again.

"Man, we're here for you. You know that." Hercules's voice is softer than it normally is. "I was... surprised that you guys got together, y'know? I was scared it would take you away but- I pushed you away. And then, shit, I was smashed at that party and-" 

"Herc," John can't stop smiling. "I know." 

They all hug in the middle of the mini mart, Herc practically dislocating a few of John's vertebrae as he slaps him on the back. Lafayette laughs in his loud, French way as he noogies John like a third grader. The three of them are back.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i originally had the wrong date titling this chapter- sorry everyone! this does, in fact, occur before the first chapter, in mid june, NOT july. sorry for the mix up! my finals-fried brain is struggling.

MID JUNE, 2016

Alex FaceTimes John crying when he gets out of therapy. Resurfacing emotions, he says. Painful things being brought up, he says. He misses his mom, he says. John murmurs and whispers and does nothing that could help, his heart aching for Alexander. The hospital-tinged helplessness is back, and somehow worse, because Alex has been okay for so long. Alex is cocooned in his bed in his aunt's guest room, the waves of hurt that are washing over him evident on his face. 

John reads to him, the same way they did on the day his mom died. Alex closes his eyes, dampness pooling on his cheeks. The tears stop eventually, the shaking of his shoulders subsiding as John reads.

John can't get rid of the nagging feeling in the back of his head, thoughts about the party that's starting in a couple of hours. He knows he shouldn't be thinking about that, not now. God, he's an awful boyfriend. It's just... so hard. And he can't deny that he just wants to veg out on Lafayette's sectional couch, stuff his face and nurse a beer, forget about this and everything awful and just be okay again. 

He shouldn't go.

He feels himself telling Alex he has to go to a family thing tonight. A barbecue. As if the Laurens family is the kind that has barbecues. 

He should be at home with his boyfriend. He should invite him over, at the very least invite him to the party.

But Alex isn't up for a party. And it wouldn't be right for John to go while he stayed home with his face still wet. It would just make Alex sadder to know.

So John doesn't tell him.

He hears himself lying through his teeth. Yeah, it's a tradition thing. Just some family friends. It always goes late. He sees Alex nodding, sees his shoulders shudder.

Then he hears Alex's aunt call him for dinner, and it's a kind of sick relief when he hangs up the phone and John can stop lying to him.

He feels awful.

But not awful enough.

 

The first thing that John notices when he reaches Lafayette's place is that the street is practically clogged with cars, more so than the usual New York Tuesday. The sheer volume of people that are there becomes clearer as John climbs the stairs, past a slew of couples sucking face, a group of boys that smell like a dispensary, countless girls in skyscraper heels.

This isn't the takeout and HBO that John is used to.

The door to Laf's place (it's even bigger than John's; Lafayette has some insane connections to French royalty that he's never fully explained to John) is wide open, music pumping inside. John feels himself getting nervous, but shoves it down inside him. He needs this. 

"John Laurens!" It's Hercules, and John can't even remember that they fought. There's back slapping and offers of a beer as a tall, pretty girl with hair to her waist falls over Hercules. 

"Your boy isn't here?" Hercules asks, adjusting his beanie with one hand while trying to steady the girl with the other. 

"Nah, wasn't feeling great." John feels a twinge in his chest, ignores it. He waves goodbye to Hercules and walks deeper into the cacophony of people, finding Lafayette. 

"Jesus, Laf, this is... huge." His friend looks so proud to have finally thrown a party with an attendance of more than his five friends.

"I know! Beer?" John shrugs. Maybe not yet.

"How'd you get this many people here?" 

"Honestly, I don't know. Herc put something about it online, but..." John shakes his head, the corners of his mouth inching up into a smile. There's something about the atmosphere in the loft, the dizzy pride of being at a party, a real party, with his friends and his hair slicked up and Lafayette pushing a beer into his hand, that makes John feel a funny kind of untouchable. The snap of the beer popping open, the streetlights reflecting off the glass of the half-up windows, the hazy smell of weed and sweat under perfume and pizza. John finds himself wanting to turn to Alex, wants to say something to the boy that isn't there. But the guilt doesn't press on his chest long, not when the first hot sips of beer rush down his throat, not when Angelica emerges from the crowd and takes his hand to drag him to the impromptu dance floor that's formed in Lafayette's living room, not when someone dips somebody else into a kiss and the whole place cheers. 

He's not thinking about Alex anymore. And there's something horribly blissful about that, about the feeling of lightness, of worry lifting off his chest. 

He's an awful person. But that thought isn't a persistent as maybe it should be- something in the same vein as, oh, he should really replace his falling-apart lunch bag one of these days. A fleeting feeling that he barely gives a second look at. 

The beer tastes good. The lights look good. The music sounds good. Dancing feels good. Angelica looks lovely, dancing near John with her hair bouncing in tendrils. Her dress is pink and pretty, subtle jeweling flashing out at him every so often. She asked about Alex's whereabouts, once. John lied, again. 

This is nothing like the party he and Alex went to, Thomas Jefferson's party. Here, John feels right in his skin, and the drink feels right in his hand, and it seems impossible that only three months has made this difference. He's not going to fight it. It's nice to feel this sense of belonging. 

"John!" Angelica is talking again, over the booming bass. 

"Yeah?" John yells back, wiping at a bead of sweat on his hairline. 

"Peggy's sorry!" This knocks the wind out of John, because, Jesus, he hasn't thought about all that in a long time. About Peggy dumping him in... this same loft. Six months ago. He hasn't thought about it. 

"Hey, tell her it's fine!" John forgave her a long time ago. John deserved it. 

"You and Alex." She doesn't say it as a question. John debates his response for a couple of seconds, then nods. 

"Yeah." She smiles, reaching out a hand to John. He squeezes it. 

"I liked him, y'know? When he first moved here." This isn't huge news to John, but hearing her say it is still a bit surprising. 

"Yeah? Well, I'm sorry..." Angelica giggles. 

"No, c'mon, we never could've been a thing. Eliza always called us hamsters. You know, how two male hamsters will fight each other to the death if they're housed together?" John did not know that. "That's how we are, I think. But, he is dreamy." John does his best to clear his head of the hamster comment, giggling. 

"Yeah, he is. I'm lucky." Angelica's forehead creases a little, and John knows it's coming. 

"It's so awful, about his mom..." John doesn't want to think about that right now, really doesn't. He just nods. "It must be hard on you."

John realizes, with a start, that this is the first time someone has said that to him. It is. It is so, so hard on him. And this validation makes John want to cry with broken relief. But he's not going to cry, not tonight. He's going to dance and drink and he's going to be okay. 

The party starts going faster the more that John drinks. Alex says John's a lightweight, and that must be true, because he's barely a beer and a half in and he already feels warm and loose and like a layer has been peeled back off him. There are so many people. It's marvelous, really. So many colors and voices overlapping, so much to look at, so much laughter in the air. Angelica got swept away from John on the dance floor by a tall, handsome senior with a voice like chocolate, and John hasn't seen either of them since. Hercules and his long-haired girl are on a couch, sucking face like the room isn't packed to the gills with people. John catches sight of Peggy, once, laughing at something someone said near the chip bowls. Lafayette is circulating like the wonderful host he is, his grammar slipping and accent becoming more pronounced the more he drinks. The music is good, a playlist John knows is saved under "JAMS FOR A RAD ASS FUCKING FIESTA" in Lafayette's iTunes, a playlist that has never seen a fiesta (let alone a rad ass one), but has accompanied them on many a McDonald's run. John feels good. 

He texts Alex, at nearly midnight, a blatant lie about going to bed. They do their goodnights, send off a string of emojis. John wishes he was here, erases the feeling with the last of his beer. 

Parties are the shit, John's decided. He's popular as fuck, really, with people saying hi to him, offering him beers. He's sitting on Lafayette's counter, a Miller Lite between his knees, his new best friend leaning against the counter next to him. John thinks he's a sophomore, thinks his name is Sam. Sam (or is it Seth?) is talking about something that sounds interesting but that John can't grab any decipherable facts out of, twirling a bottle under his index finger on the granite. John nods, laughs, watches Sam disappear into the throng of people again. Bye, Sam. 

It's late. John is watching people start to leave, a pair or a trio at a time. It's thinning out, just a little. John doesn't want to go ever, ever, ever. He's fairly sure it's magic here. John likes the beer. He likes the chips and the music and the people and the way the room tilts gently to the beat of the bass. 

He thinks that this is probably the coolest place in the whole world. Why do people spend thousands of dollars to vacation in Hawaii, Paris, Italy? They should just visit Lafayette's loft. Laf's loft. John cracks that one to the girl next to him, and they laugh together. 

Beer. Cold pizza. A drum solo over the speakers. Feeling the wind on his face on the balcony with a group of people he's never met. Dancing. Dipping a girl towards the ground and laughing with her like crazy when she tells him she has a girlfriend and he responds in kind. Remembering Alex and showing his picture to the people around him. Drinking orange juice straight from the carton. Peeing in Lafayette's dumb fancy bathroom. Staring contest with someone's blue eyes. Laughing. Talking. Singing. Laying on the carpeted floor with Hercules. One deep drag of a joint that left him coughing. Someone bringing doughnuts. Sharing said doughnuts in a haphazard circle around the dining room table. Lafayette standing on a chair and proclaiming that everyone in this room is his fucking family, yo. Beer beer beer. 

John doesn't go home at all that night. He passes out right on the living room floor, when he and Hercules and Lafayette are finally the only people left. He wakes up there too, after three hours of sleep with a mouth that feels like it's full of sand and bird crap and a roaring, pounding headache. 

The party was still fucking awesome.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys don't even know how unmotivated i've been!! i'm not even sure why, but the sweet comments really do help me keep putting work out! i know it's been literally a month since i've posted a real chapter and i'm very sorry. i hope y'all enjoy it! and remember i live off comments

MID JUNE 2016

John has the distinct, highly unpleasant feeling that he's been backed over by a garbage truck multiple times. At least, his mouth tastes like roadkill, and he's fairly sure that's the best description for how he smells too. Fuck. Shit. This is bad. He can't go home like this, and the way his phone is buzzing in his pocket means someone is looking for him. John rolls over, feeling the imprint of Lafayette's excessively fancy French carpet in his cheek. Shit. The light is too bright, making his head scream with pain. This is a hangover, dumbass. 

“Laf?” John croaks, throat achingly dry. He can't see anyone from where he's lying on the floor, but his eyes are barely open in an attempt to keep the excruciating sun out. He tries to sit up, once, and immediately realizes that it's the worst idea he's ever had. The whole room is tilting like the teacup rides at Disneyland. “Herc?” John really, really doesn't want to throw up on this dumb fuzzy carpet. He wishes Alex was here to help him up and to a bathroom. 

Shit. Alex. How late is it? John gropes in his pockets for his phone and breathes a sigh of relief when it tells him that it's only ten thirty. He has two good morning texts from Alex, received only fifteen minutes ago, and a handful of missed calls from his mom. He’ll respond to it all when looking at the screen doesn't make him want to find a bag to stick his head into. 

“You up, Laurens?” It's Hercules, voice raspy. John squints towards the kitchen and sees the blurred outline of his friend with his head down on the island. The island that's spinning quite rapidly.

“No.” John manages, palming at his aching eyes with the heels of his hands. 

“Me neither.” Here sounds as bad as John feels. They fucked up. 

“Is- agh, fuck-“ John’s stomach lurches unpleasantly, “-Laf here?” 

“Maybe? I think he- ay, is the floor moving?” John nods his agreement. “I think he has someone back, ah, shit- in bed with him.” John tries to laugh, but it just ends up hurting more than seems right. 

“Uh, fuck.” John's vocabulary has diminished to a handful of grunts and curses. He swallows hard, which does nothing but spread the animal carcass taste, and attempts pulling himself off the ground one more time. He does manage to contort his body into a semi-upright slouch, head between his knees. Water. He should drink some water. 

Fuck, drinking sucks. Hercules manages to stumble like a blind man to the bathroom for Advil and mouthwash, and John downs the pills miserably with a glass of water that goes mostly down his shirt. He lays there, comatose, until the edges of his headache begin to ebb and opening his eyes no longer feels as much like he's taking a nail gun to the brain. Lafayette appears in the kitchen at some point, periodically groaning as he hangs his head over the trash can by the sink. 

“Dudes, dudes, dudes…” It's Hercules, rubbing his face with a huge palm. “No more parties like that. I liked our old gig.” John grunts his agreement. 

 

Alex thinks he has food poisoning- he's demanding a list of everything John ate at the family barbecue, tracing the false illness back to the feast of liars, potato salad. 

“I think mayonnaise goes bad really easily- especially if it's hot out.” John retches again into Alex’s toilet, more of a dry heave than anything. He doesn't want to hear about mayonnaise. He had the cab bring him here, after an eon-long shower and half the mouthwash bottle to flush the scent of alcohol off of him. The only thing worse than parents who don't give a shit is parents who half-ass-edly pretend to give a shit because their kid is clearly unwell. He told that to Alex, who assumed the role of caretaker like it was his life's work. He's rubbing John's back, holding his hair, murmuring sweet, apologetic things. If John didn't feel like he was about to die, he'd feel a lot, lot worse for lying to this angelic boy who does nothing but care for him. 

When John stops throwing up, Alex wraps him in a robe and forces him onto the couch with tea and saltines and daytime tv. He's sitting at John's feet, rubbing them absently as he chatters with running commentary about the episode of Say Yes to the Dress that they're watching. 

“Okay, baby, how do you feel about the tiered skirt? I think it swallows her figure.” John laughs and it doesn't hurt, swatting Alex with the edge of his blanket. 

“What!” Alex giggles, putting his hands up. “Are you telling me that silhouette isn't overwhelming on her?”

“You just embody the stereotype of the boy who likes boys.” John teases, finding Alex's hand in the blankets. Yeah. This boy likes him. 

“Are you telling me it's a bad thing to have an impeccable eye for bridal fashion?” Alex is acting fake put out, and it's so funny and adorable and perfectly Alex that John feels his eyes burning for a moment. 

“Not at all, pudding pie.” Alex snorts at the nickname, hugging John's legs in his lap. 

“You're a dumbass.” Never has that sounded so affectionate. Alex is smiling at John, his eyes practically pouring light into the room. 

“I know. And I agree about the skirt.”

 

John stays the rest of the day, wanting to be close to Alex in a way that pulls in his chest like a magnet. His aunt comes home from work and gives John the Pepto-Bismol that Alex couldn't find, sinking into a living room chair to watch HGTV with them. She really loves Alex, John can tell, and it makes him all sorts of happy. She makes spaghetti for dinner and tells John to stay the night, checking his head for a fever. The blatant care from someone he barely knows makes his eyes wet as he smiles at her. 

He does spend the night, spooned by Alex, his heart exploding in his ribcage with joy. His hangover has all but passed, the only sign of the night before the faint headache hovering at his temples. This is all he wants, all he needs. He feels another stab of guilt about the party, about the lies. God, this is a thousand times better than any party could ever be. Warm and safe under Alex’s arm, feeling his slow breaths on his shoulder. This is everything. Everything. John turns to look into Alex's sleeping face, mouth slightly open and hand smashed between his pillow and his cheek. He nestles into the space under Alex's chin, placing a kiss on his rising, falling chest. 

“I love you, Alexander.”

 

John wakes up in Alex’s bed with morning wood. Oh, shit. Alex, by some miracle, is still asleep, snoring softly with one arm thrown up above his head. Looking at him was probably a mistake, because, god, if he doesn't look good with his hair messy and his arm muscles prominent where they're stretched above him and his white tank top riding up above his waist, revealing honey skin that John wants to put his mouth on. Jesus Christ, Laurens. He needs to take care of this. When he pulls the blankets back to get out of the bed, the sun that seeps through the windows to the street falls on Alex’s hips, his pajama pants pulled low from sleep. John's eyes are glued to the subtle V of muscle that leads into the waistband of Alex’s green plaid pants. He feels a ball of heat low in his stomach that makes his cheeks burn red. John feels dirty, looking at sleeping Alex like this, and carefully tugs the sheet over his bare skin. Fuck. It makes John feel like he's never seen Alex naked, never seen a bare stomach. 

John tiptoes to the attached guest bathroom, careful not to wake Alex with his footsteps. He closes the door with a soft click, catching sight of his watermelon-red cheeks that make his freckles stand out in the mirror. He’ll have to be quick about this, quick and quiet. John touches himself, lightly with an open palm, and gasps at the feeling, biting down on the sound. Alex, Alex, Alex. John would be lying if he said that he hadn't thought about that day, weeks ago, where Alex slid to his knees in front of John and wrung him out, made him sob with need and the holiness of Alex's touch. He's thought about it a lot, and he's thinking about it now, that and crawling across Alex’s messy, slept-in bedsheets to whisper in his ear and plant teeth on his neck and let his hands roam. God. John's wrist twitches again, pressing against the fabric of his (Alex’s) pajama pants. A low, soft moan. John's face and insides are burning as he swallows the noise, keeping quiet. John can't be slow, delicate anymore. Fabric around his ankles, Alex’s name thick on his tongue, spit in his palm as pseudo-lube, hand around his cock, thumb pressing at the head. It feels good, so good, heightened by the image of Alex sleeping in the next room with so much of his body bared to the air. John stomach is tensing, muscles spasming as the strokes of his palm falter. He moans aloud, accidental and ignored as the heat builds behind his eyes. Close, close, close. Imagining Alex's hang around his, his mouth on his neck. Alex. John arches his back and comes, unceremonious, into the toilet with curses falling from his lips. He's trembling a little, feeling like he's ten and never jerked off before, the image of Alex still burnt in his brain. God. He feels like his senses have fizzled out, and his ears don't warn him before the bathroom door opens. 

“John, are you o- oh.” Alex. Fuck. Fuck. John whirls, meets Alex’s wide, dark eyes, and makes a lunge to pull up his pants. Oh, fuck. His thighs are sticky and the toilet has a mess in it that he knows Alex can see and Alex is just staring, frozen, in the doorway and the worst part of it all is that those infernal pajama pants are barely staying on his narrow hips and something in John is stirring yet again. 

“John- I, wow.” Alex's cheeks are coloring, and he's not quite looking at John’s face, but somewhere lower. 

“Did I wake you up?” It's the dumbest thing John could ask. He's up, and here, woken by John's embarrassing loudness that apparently sounded like moans of pain. John could really die. 

“Fuck.” Alex's voice is husky. And he's stepping forward, closing and locking the door (there's a lock, Laurens). John is speechless. “You couldn't wait for me?” 

“Oh.” John says, involuntarily. Alex's voice, expression. All of him dripping with lust. “Oh.” Alex is looking at him in such a way that John feels as naked as he was moments earlier, stripped back to his skin and reflected in Alex's dark, dark eyes. 

“Come here.” Alex says, almost whispers. And then he has John by the hips, his fingertips putting enough pressure on the bone that John doesn't float away through the ceiling. And their mouths are together, pushing and pulling, neither one of them giving an inch. Alex has his hand up at John's jaw, holding him tight and close. It's exhilarating, the feeling of control that Alex has over him. John is backed into the counter, the cold marble digging into the exposed skin just above John’s waist. The chill in his back and the heat of Alex against him, his tongue in his mouth, roil through John, leaving him undone. 

“My aunt is at work.” Alex says in between kisses planted down John's neck. John can't tell whether nervousness or arousal is what's making his stomach drop as he looks at Alex. His hair is a mess, eyes wide as he stares back up at John with a tooth hooked in his lower lip. 

“So I think… I need to shower.” John's legs are jelly from the forwardness that he usually doesn't possess. Alex’s lips curl into a smile. “But… you know… other people's showers can be a bitch to work.” Alex nods, eyes alight.

“I should probably… help you with that.”

“Probably.”


End file.
